SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

SOMERSET
NEIGHBOURS

BY

ALFRED PERCIVALL

MILLS & BOON, LIMITED

49 RUPERT STREET

LONDON, W. i

Published 1921

TO

MY WIFE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. I COME TO HAWKESCOMBE . . . .13

II. THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILLS ... 20

III. JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS ... 32

IV. SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN ... 48
V. THE MILKY WAY 66

VI. LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE .... 74

VII. A VILLAGE WEDDING 88

VIII. THE NESTLING SWALLOWS . . . . 101

IX. 'RiA DANCES .109

X. CHURCH-BALLING 123

XI. BEN BRINDLE DISCOURSES . . . .128

XII. PHILIP CREECH'S " XPLANASHUNS " . . 139

XIII. THE KEEPER'S CATCH 158

XIV. LETTY'S WOOING 173

XV. THE CHRISTMAS TREE . . . .188

XVI. THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY . . . 202

XVII. THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS . . . 226

SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

CHAPTER I

I COME TO HAWKESCOMBE

IN Somerset there are miles and miles of wild
country high on the hills which seem too
remote for the ordinary visitor to reach. But the
tiny villages which nestle in its combes hold
treasures of beauty little dreamed of by those who
pass them by. I speak not only of things, but of
human lives, and think of my own village,
Hawkescombe.

From the summit of its highest hill, some nine
hundred feet above sea-level, over which buzzards
often circle, the view is wonderful. The range of
which this height forms part is in the shape of a
crescent, or sickle, with its back humped up
against north and north-east winds which other-
wise would sweep upon the village without a
check over miles and miles of lowlands. To the
east are the Mendips, many miles away, and
north-west lie the Blackdowns with the Vale of

13

i-4 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Taunton just below. A near cluster of red roofs
marks Hawkescombe's market town. The rich
country between it and the village has many
streams fringed with loose-strife, willow-herb,
meadow-sweet, and forget-me-not, and its
meadows of bright emerald green are spangled
in their seasons with cowslips, oxlips, and wild
orchids. The copses seen here and there are
carpeted in spring and summer with Lent-lilies,
primroses, violets, anemones, bluebells, and fox-
gloves. The ploughed fields are splendid with
rich, warm, old red sandstone and marl.

On one high knap the badger earths are. It
stands as a sentinel for the great wood of heavy
forest timber, oak, ash, chestnut, and pine,
which falls away below it to the river. To the
west a purple fringe marks Exmoor, and in the
bite of the hills the Bristol Channel gleams like a
jewel. Between it and Hawkescombe a hanging
larch wood is where the woodcock breeds. The
high down to the north is where I last saw a
honey buzzard, and in the field below I found,
only last season, a quail nestling.

It is a great country for birds. On the far sea
cliffs are ravens ; yes, and a peregrine's eyrie.
The golden commons of gorse and broom and
bracken have thickets of brambles sacred to the
red-backed shrike and the scolding chats. Far

I COME TO HAWKESCOMBE 15

below Hawkescombe hill one moss-grown peaty
bog, carpeted with spagnum moss, with patches
of marsh-marigold, iris, and bulrush, is the
breeding-ground of snipe, and the lane running
along two sides of it, with overgrown and tangled
hedges which are a smother of honeysuckle and
old man's beard, is a veritable heaven of warblers.
The bubbling burn which divides our parish
from the next is full of trout and a haunt of
dippers.

What brought me here to Hawkescombe ? In
what appeared to me an evil hour the " medicine
men " forbade me to hold a parish of my own.
They laid me on the shelf. And yet, as they still
allowed me to do a little work, I could regard
myself as in harness, rather than as permanently
turned out to grass. Somerset was the county
in which I decided to find a home, for it is one
with many parsons, struggling in scattered parishes,
who need help badly. It affords unrivalled
opportunities for the indulgence in leisure hours
of my youthful hobby, natural history. And it
is rich, as I have long since proved, in the very
kindest, most ingenuous, and lovable of country
folk. I love it, every bit of it : and I love them,
every one of them !

I realised with trepidation that I was coming a
stranger among strangers, and that I might, too,

16 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

easily run counter to Hawkescombe's ancient
traditions. But very soon the villagers made all
plain to us. The foundations of village life had
been well and truly laid of old on the rock of
mutual loving service and respect, and the spirit
of real neighbourliness still persisted, only need-
ing reverent protection against frost to render the
fabric as secure as ever. The whole atmosphere
breathed loyalty and affection. Not that they are
a folk who wear their hearts upon their sleeves !
With them appearance goes for little, and profes-
sion even less ; they watch and read between the
lines ; are overshrewd at sucking the marrow-bone
of motive dry, and seldom make a bad mistake in
judgment. Which means, of course, that they are
slow to change or be convinced. But once
satisfied, they trust ; the battle's won and nothing
is withheld.

The village lies hidden from the busy world.
Those who pass along the high road might never
know of its existence. But if they left it, and,
passing by the sandpits, alive with martins sailing
in and out of their burrows, went down the side
of this wood, where we come to listen to the wood-
lark's song of an evening, then they would come
upon Hawkescombe. Brooding over all below,
and standing out from among the limes and yew

I COME TO HAWKESCOMBE 17

trees, is the splendid old church tower of Ham-
hill stone, toned and weathered to lovely gold
and russets. By the lych-gate stands the ancient
preaching cross. The rectory is near, but hidden
in the trees. A step beyond the church gives a
glimpse of the grey stone gables of the Manor
House, my shelf. From there the zigzag road
winds its halting way downhill, across the stream,
and by easier stages creeps up the farther side of
the valley. The cottages sprinkled on either side
of it are stone built and mostly roofed with thatch,
in the more exposed situations with stone field
slates, while here and there is a bit of wall or
barton built of red mud or wattle.

There is not a cottage that I do not know.
Close to the church is the humble but beautiful
dwelling of Jim and Martha Webb. It was Jim
who buried his master's charger as near the
church as might be. And if a tubby figure is ever
seen by the lych-gate or the ancient preaching
cross, it will be that of our parish clerk and
sexton, Ben Brindle, always thirsting for a gossip.
An oval patch of emerald green is the cricket
ground, where Brace, the keeper, and his arch-
enemy Knight, the poacher, made the great catch
which should become historic. From the cricket
ground the road winds down across a stream,
and, half-way, a white cottage, gleaming against a

i8 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

clump of dark pines, is the home of crazy 'Ria.
Beyond it stands Fuchsia Cottage, where I have
often tried in vain to get a word in edgeways with
Louisa Knibb. The farm near it is owned by
Levi Keitch, explorer of the milky way, to put it
so. The cottage at the cross-roads is where dear
Letty Marchant, our wild dancer, had the trouble
of her life solved. Upon the very crest of Stooper's
Knapp is the home of " Rickety " Rickman, the
village cobbler, and dear old Jenny his wife, who
will " tell " with me no more. The rocky downs
to the west are sacred to the profound philosophy
and ethics of our splendid shepherd, Silas Noldart.
With glasses can be seen beyond the downs a
dark outcrop of rock standing up against the
evening sky, and just beneath it a brown speck,
like a mole on a man's chin, which was the house
of Pat Lambert, the outcast. Away south, in a
fold of the downs, dwell the notable churchwarden,
Sam Barton, and his neighbour, that voluble old
seaman, Peter Austin, an equally interesting up-
holder of law and order. That derelict farmstead
standing alone in the bottom once housed Philip
Creech, whose last will and testament may cost
some pains to decipher. r That is the house of
'Appy, the carter, a man of one great speciality,
and not far from it is dear old John Gobbler's
forge, the shrine of many memories.

I COME TO HAWKESCOMBE 19

All these wild open moors and bracing downs
stretched out before us breed a splendid race of
hill -folk proud of their descent, and of somewhat
plain and open speech. Yet I love them, and they
know it ; how much I owe them they will never
know.

CHAPTER II

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILLS

MARCH had come in like a lion, as it should
do traditionally, and it was still early in
the month when I was caught in a veritable
blizzard of snow, with a biting north wind, and
had to take shelter. I shared it with Silas Noldart,
the shepherd, an old friend of mine, whom I
found cutting bread and cheese upon his knee as
he crouched under the lee of a thatched hurdle
on the downs.

Silas is seventy, hard and gnarled as a pollard
oak, with a mass of white hair and a venerable
beard flowing down his smock. He pulled his
forelock, by way of obeisance, as I paused for a
breather and snuggled down beside him. A
glorious panorama of hill and dale was spread out
at our feet, and in the bright intervals between
the storms we could see forty miles away to the
west.

' Your lambs play as if they enjoyed this
weather, Noldart," I began.

" Aye, I likes to see 'em lep about," he replied,

20

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILLS 21

" 'tis a sign of 'ealth. We done the same in our
day, sir, I doubt ; but they'm a-thought more
lordly wi' the yeos at meal times nor we was.
Fruzzling their tails is their way o' asking a
blessing from the only God they knows —
mother."

" Yes ; it's a fine sheep-running down round
about here."

" Aye — well favoured for the she 'p. They do
lep, don't 'em ? Catched it from this country
they'm bred in, likely. When Israel come to take
him a change o' pasture out o' Egypt, this 'ere
country was young, I doubt, and overreached
itself capering and skipping in honour of the
festival, I reckon ; and by a shift o' the wind or
some 'at, got left in 'ills and 'ummocks afore they
could on-stretch theirselves."

" You read your psalms then, Noldart ? "

11 Can't read a word, sir — but I've 'card 'em
say about it. Wonnerful human things is she'p,
or I suppose, as they was made fust, we should
say wonnerful she 'ply things is humans. ' Gone
astray like a she'p,' we say : they fangles through
the 'edges and gets a brimble in their trousers,
and calls for the shepherd to pick it out and
take 'em back again. 'Tis the same wi' we,
ain't it ? "

" And where do you go to church, Noldart ? "

22 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" Church going or chapel going is on-possible,
sir, for I. We'm all a sweet smelling savour, and
coming afore Him He'll know our trade by the
smell o' we and say : ' You'm a shepherd, chapel
be excused ; I got another flock for you 'ere :
'tis what I fitted you for, so o' course you'm fit
for nothing else — take on this lot.'

" Then there's the lost she'p : how the yeo
fusses about it for a time — doesn't know where
'tis to, and no use for me to explain as 'tis all right,
and we knows. 'Tis so with ours and God, if we'd
only be content : He can't explain, and we
shouldn't be understanding if He did."

As we sat and chatted thus, the snow still
falling in gusts and Noldart still munching his
bread and cheese, a friendly and inquisitive red-
breast perched upon a hurdle in front of us, on
the look out for crumbs.

" I never see one o' them things," said my
friend, pointing at it with his knife, " but what I
think of Mary Stimmer's youngest brat what was
also a lost she'p. Stimmers was a carter, but 'e
took 'im a bad cold one Feb'ury which put 'im
out in one puff : and soon after the child was
borned. I'd knowed Mary from a girl, and me
and Stimmers 'ad schooled together. And she
say to me, ' Silas, you must come and stand god-
sire to the boy : I got no one now my man's gone

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILLS 23

to give an eye to 'im as 'e grows up : 'twould be
neighbourly-like and that.' You see, she done a
bit o' mending and cooking for I, times. O'
course, we chapel folk don't hold with such
ceremonials as Mary did, but I says I will. 'Twas
the first and only time I ever been to a church
service, and the rules did seem a thought cur'ous.
Minister were quite a lad, a curat, and 'e come
down in a white smock to the ' copper ' what was
fixed behind the front door."

" We call it a font," I explained.

" Aye, I believe I 'ave heard that afore : well,
the fount, then. Fust go off Master Curat wasn't
for letting my dog Sly come in, though there
wasn't above four or five folk inside, and plenty
of room.

" ' God took and made her same as He done you,
sir,' I says : * and she serves Him same as you do,
sir,' I says : ' only she'm better off in the number
of legs.'

" ' I must put her into the porch,' he say.

" * Please don't you lift a finger to her, sir,' I
says, * or maybe she'll fix it : 'tis a rum bitch,
she is, is Sly.'

11 She knowed as we was discussing 'er as well
as well, and I see 'er lick and curl 'er lips : so I
told 'er to go and lay at the doorway. So that was
settled.

24 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" Next, Mary Stimmers must go and get * cast '
in 'er seat, and couldn't get up — weak in one
leg she was : so I 'ad to go and set 'er on 'er
feet, and then we made a fairy-ring around the
fount.

" Now she'd took and telled me as we was
suspected to do a bit o' back-answering with the
gentleman, as we walked to the church. ' I ain't
over-well up in it myself/ she say, ' but you'll
find it all writ in the Book.' But being no
scholard, when the time came I left the exact
wording to 'er, and just touched me 'ead and
said, ' Aye, aye, sir,' ' Same 'ere, sir,' and ' I'm
with Mary Stimmers, sir,' as was only fair, seeing
the baby belonged to 'er.

" But what I really did take notice of was a
robin redbreast what was in the church, and what
spended 'is time flitting back and fro between the
preacher's dock and the fount : 'e seemed to me
to be bent on a mischief, or anyhow to be there
for a purpose : so I watch it careful, and sure
enough when the minister took the nipper into
'is arms, and say to Mary : * The name of this
child ? ' master robin flut by and remembered
'isself right down the front of the baby's
gown'd.

1 Yet in face o' that Mary sings out : ' 'is name
is 'Erbert.'

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILLS 25

" ' No, pardon me on the other 'and, sir, 'is
name is Robin,' I says.

" Minister looks from she to I, and from I to
she, and seems lost.

" ' 'Erbert,' she say again.
" ' Robin,' I says.

" * 'Erbert, an you please, sir,' she say a third
time, and drops a curtsey. That looked like
ending of it, for the curat took and dippit 'is 'and
in the copper — fount, I would say, then. So I
ups quick, and took the nipper out of 'is arms,
and Sly, seein' some 'at was a'foot, paddled in and
looks up in me face for orders : and as the curat
looked fudgetty, * Guard 'im,' I says to Sly, lest
'e might give it all up and be off. And then lead-
ing Mary apart I says : * You must ha' got a
maggot in your 'ead, Mary Stimmers : he'm a
lucksome bird is yon, as you well know ; and
seein' as 'e was sent to mark the nipper, as 'e done,
for a " Robin," 'tis flying in the face o' things
for you to stick to " 'Erbert " : 'tis on-gainly for
the future of 'im like enough, to take and cross
the bird. You stick against it, and I'll 'ave
nothing to do wi' the whole flummery ! 'Tis my
first duty as god-sire to show you your error.
There's only one thing we can do as neighbours —
I'll go 'alves with you : take the fore-end o' mine
and the back-end o' yours and make it " Robert,"

26 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

but that be as far as I dare : you can still call 'im
" Bert " just the same you see.'

" So there we settled it, and * Robert ' it were :
and out again went Sly.

" At the end, the minister say we'm to take the
nipper to the bishop when 'e can talk plain, and
meantime 'e was to be instructed by Church
Chastism. Mary she wasn't 'tending just then,
so * I'll see to it, sir,' I says, ' and if that don't do
no good, a ash-plant and that is 'andy.' But 'e
wasn't listening and walked off up the church to
the waiting-room. I don't know what the
church done, but I did my bit, though it wasn't a
morsel o' use — lost she'p 'e was. O' course wi'
such a start 'e couldn't come to much good,
'twasn't to be suspected : nor Mary nor I ain't
seen 'im since 'e turned eighteen (that's over
thirty years back-along) : must ha' been drownded
in a sewer afore now, I reckon."

" How do you manage without a dog, Noldart ?''
I asked by way of changing the subject.

" I doesn't," he answered, with a grin : " she'm
close handy and watching of you I doubt.
Beller ! " At the call, a heavy bob-tailed old
English sheep-dog sprang into view from some-
where behind her master, and standing in front of
him shook in every limb with excitement in
anticipation of his orders.

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILLS 27

" Smile pleasant, and look a lady, come," said
Noldart : whereupon she dropped her ears and,
wrinkling up her nose and lips, approached me
and minutely investigated every inch of me from
head to feet.

" Knows more than most, does Beller. If you
was to touch my crook or coat, she'd 'old you.
If I be away and leave 'er * on guard ' the fold is
safe as safe : not a she'p go out, or man or beast
come in. ' Thief s ' sends 'er capering round the
hurdles, and she would kill or 'old anything she
met."

" Yes, she is a great dear," I said, fondling Bella,
with whom by this time I was on quite intimate
terms : " where did you get her ? "

" Ah ! that be cur'ous — there's a 'istory 'tach-
ing to Beller ; can't say she has a tail, can we,
girl ? " (which caused the dog to smile again).
* Three years ago come July, a man come buzzing
along the road on a bee- circle : went by in a
cloud o' dust 'e did, and some few minutes after,
the dog come lopping along dead beat, and I
says : ' 'Tis a shame, my girl,' and she lay down
lost in the smither o' dust, on-able to move.
Must a run miles I doubt. I fetched 'er my
'at-full o' water from a stream, and give 'er a
crust o' bread from my pockert, and lifted 'er
into the shade o' the ditch. ' Your bellers is

28 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

broke, my lady,' I says, ' if not your 'eart,' and
she licked me 'ands and face to say, ' We'm
understanding one another,' so I called 'er
* Beller ' (cause of 'er bellers) and there she is.
Where she come from I dunno : where's she to,
'er owner don't know ; but where she'll live and
die I do know, and so do she.

" Yes — they'm silly things comparisoned to
dogs is the she'p, and therefore want more
understanding than most : needs a lot o' patience
to master their folly. And they gets sillier as
they gets older, is my opinion. A lamb seems
more senseful than a yeo — can at least play : when
'e's dropped that 'e's dropped all the sense 'e
got seemingly. Tis the same with wummin,
you know."

" Oh ! that is your experience as a married man,
is it, Noldart ? "

" I never was married, sir : needed all me powers
for the she'p. I never could abear to argufy with
no one : I don't need to wi' she'p, I sends
Beller. I'm wishing time and again, now I be
middle-aged, as I 'ad took a wumman, but I give
all me time to Farmer Trepplin, and 'ave worked
on this farm for 'is father and 'im fifty-two year
last Christmas. I telled 'im so a month agone,
and asked if 'e could allow me a trifle to give up :

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILLS 29

but 'e say * No ' — very close-woven man is
Farmer Trepplin, real West of England cloth Je
is — and I must give up my cottage, 'e say, if I
leave. That I couldn't, seeing as I 'ave lived in
'er over forty year, and lodged in 'er ten afore
that.

" I near married once though — I'm not telling
you who with 'cause you knows 'er : ' go and
touch ' that was, as they say, but we 'ad a fall out
just in time — argufying as usual. She asked me
to go for a walk with 'er one evening, and I called
to fetch 'er.

" ' Better take a numbriller, 'tis going to rain,'
I says.

" ' No, it ain't,' she say, ' and I shan't.'

" ' 'Ave it your own way,' I says.

" ' No, I won't,' she say.

" * We'll wait and see then,' I says.

* No, we won't,' she say : ' it ain't going to
rain.'

" So I just stands and looks at her without a
word.

" ' Can't yer say something or do something ? '
she went on. ' I say it ain't going to rain ; now
then ? '

" * Well,' I says, ' you won't 'ave it my way,
nor yet your own way, nor even wait and see the
Lord's way : what is there for I to say or do ? '

3o SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" ' Bunches ! ' she say, ' and if you can't say
something or do something we shan't suit.'

" ' Very well,' I says, and leaves 'er door, and
goes off home.

" There you might suppose was the end, but
not a bit of it. Ten minutes later she come
down to my door, and 'twas raining then :
and she say, * You was wrong : 'twas not going
to rain when you said 'twas : it corned on
after.'

" ' 'Tis what I meant,' I says.

" ' No, you never,' she say : ' and 'tis not what
I call rain even now — 'tis but a smizzle. You say,

'Tis going to rain " : you never say when, or
for 'ow long, or 'ow 'ard and that — you never say
nothing. If you'd a' said 'twill be going to rain,
'twould ha' been some sense to it. But you say,

'Tis going to rain," and 'twasn't going to rain
when you spoke it, and didn't rain for long after :
and it ain't what I call rain now : 'tis but a
smizzle. And you say, " Better take a num-
briller " ; now a numbriller is for rain, and this
be only a smizzle. There be rain and rain, same
as there is men and men ; but there aren't
numbrillers and numbrillers, but just a numbriller ;
and a numbriller isn't for a smizzle, and you
say " take a numbriller " — where 's the sense in a
numbriller for a smizzle ? Drat the man ! If you

THE SHEPHERD ON THE HILLS 31

can't say something or do something, you won't

suit ' "

' Sam,' I says (that was my dog at that day) —
' Sam, thiefs ! ' That cleared 'er, though Sam
wasn't really in the 'ouse at all, being on duty in
the she 'p -fold. That was the end. If you go
courting, seems to me you'm courting all sorts of
things you'm not wanting."

CHAPTER III

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS

IT was on a perfect afternoon in late September,
when Nature begins to gather all her efforts
in beauty made through spring and summer into
the last gorgeous display of autumn that I found
myself near Stoopers' Knapp. I felt that it was
high time I called again on dear old Jenny Rick-
man and her husband. My last knock at their
door had proved abortive, for it was answered by
a duet from within — " Very, very sorry, but we'm
terrible busy wi' our innards." Coupled with
what I beheld in their backyard as I retired this
cryptic saying was easily interpreted — they had
killed their pig that morning.

On that particular September day I could
plead more excuses than the weather, the
exhilarating walk, and the pleasure I always find
in a " tell " with Jenny, for calling on the old
couple. I had a parcel of old-age spectacles of
varied powers for her to pick from, as some
months ago she told me that her own were failing
her — " only fit for a new-born mole must just

32

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS 33

put up wi' my own eyes wi'out no winders. "
And that old pair of shooting-boots might just as
well be soled again by her husband, Bill, who is
our village cobbler.

For a mile and more the short cut took me up
through Silvercombe : and there, sitting on a log
to take a " breather," I spent half an hour such
as I love. A burn bubbled close beside me, and
a water-vole was busy drawing grasses and berries
from an overhanging rowan into its tunnelled
chamber in the bank-side : while now and again
it made extended journeys of twenty yards to
secure tit-bits of crab-apple from under a neigh-
bouring tree. Several times a squirrel passed
with nuts, taking every care that none should see
his growing larder. Summer play was drawing
to a close : it was time to hurry up and stock the
storehouse full. A change was coming when he
could only live upon the labours of the past.

As I sat in silence a curious and pathetic thing
happened. Outcast from the swarms who gam-
bolled at their games some distance from me, an
old rabbit picked its laboured way along the turf.
It got within a yard of me and stopped. A thing
of mere skin and bones, it sat and stared up at me
with sightless eyes. I passed my hand quite close
before its nose, but even its sense of smell seemed
dead. But I could see its trouble. Through loss

34 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

of sight it had failed to find the bark and stumps,
to gnaw which serve to keep the teeth in trim,
with the result that at last they were so long and
overgrown that it could not even nibble, and was
in the final stages of starvation. Stretching itself
at full length in the sun, was it dreaming of many
duties done ? Of dangers successfully escaped,
or of former frolics ? At least the sun was
comforting and warm.

Stoopers consists of a tiny hamlet of seven
cottages which look as if they had been caught
in a blizzard and thrown down in a heap into a
little niche on the side of a hill. They seem to
sit there half-stunned, with an air of resignation,
determined to make the best of their remote
surroundings. For Stoopers lies four miles
from Hawkescombe and two from its own parish
church, which (if he went anywhere) Bill Rickman
attended. But far away as they are, the villagers
are still my neighbours, and I have seen much of
Jenny.

Rickman is ever to be observed sitting on the
bench in his bow-window, at work behind a
fly-blown notice of his trade hanging on a boot-
lace. Nature from the first was not over-kind
to Bill, and sixty-five years of change and chance
have but increased his limitations. He limped

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS 35

into the world with one leg shorter than the other,
and this, perchance, has served in part to dwarf
his general development. Again, when a boy,
while tightening his shoe-lace with a carving
fork, one prong of which proved unequal to the
strain, he destroyed the sight of his left eye :
hence the eternal green patch which marks its
grave. The other, which is always weak, mourns
its neighbour with unceasing tears, and, from the
angle at which they sit upon his nose, one doubts
whether it gets much assistance from the horn-
rimmed " specs " he wears. Though under no
vows — so far as history shows — a razor has never
come upon his chin. The beard he wears is
sparse if virginal, and it is only on Bank Holidays
and Fair Days that Jenny takes the scissors to
his hair.

Often enough the Snob is rival of the Publican
for honours as political oracle, in a village. But
here is an exception : Rickman is our poet rather
than our statesman. He assures me that he
always thinks in verse, and certainly whenever
possible he rhymes his sentences, and even the
items in his bills. And if these halt uncertainly,
pray of your charity to recollect the leg and eye,
and wonder not that he is known by intimates
as " Rickety Bill."

36 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Here is the advertisement hanging in his

window : —

W. RICKMAN

Bootmaker.

Repairs in best leather
Tie each pair together.

MINERAL WATERS sold here
One penny per bottle.

(Messrs. HANNAY & WICKS)
Ninepence for six.

NOTICE. — There will be none
Till War is done.

His cryptic explanation to me as regards
refreshments and prices ran : —

" We cannot be cleared out of stock at one go
The job as we'm at when supplies do run low."

When I reached the cottage, Rickety's window
knew him not, and as I raised the latch of the door
I found Jenny sitting on the high-backed oak
settle by the open hearth, picking over a lapful
of spagnum moss for padding hospital splints.
A touching picture she made as the firelight
danced on her old Paisley shawl and spotless
white cap whose frilled edges framed the wrinkled

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS 37

face — a face of greater strength of character,
perhaps, than beauty.

A smile of genuine delight and welcome hailed
me as I closed the door, and sat down beside
her. But somehow she seemed more shrunk and
fragile than usual, and the voice was thin in
which she asked me :

" And 'ow be the Germin war to-day, sir ?
And 'ave the Armitix arrived in England ? "

You see, the postman is known to bring a paper

to the Manor — nay, " one every day o' the week "

—which satisfies our neighbours that Hawkes-

combe is in close touch with England, and that

all is well. Jenny continued :

' They'm tellin' me as Liza Bennett's man been
badly 'andled and lays in 'ospital in a Island in
France. Shame it is — so 'tis. Liza, Jer left
the postcard on our mantelshelf, and wants to
start out there at once. But I telled 'er 'tis
madness, and wi' a cup o' tea and that I quieted
'er down a point or two — so I did."

On reaching down the postcard I found it
headed " Military Hospital, Carlisle," and was
at some pains to explain Bennett's whereabouts
to Jenny.

" Ah, well ! " she said, when she grasped it all,
" we knowed yer see as 'e were in France, and
so must 'a gotten 'is knock out there : so we took

38 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

it, Carl bein' quite a furrin name, too, as it
must be somewheres out o' England. Anyhow,
'tis comfortsome to know 'e'm beyond their sticks
for a bit, so 'tis. But 'twould seem we'm all
gettin' scattered : for I do 'ear as Em'ly 'Arding's
eldest son, what lives down to Cornwall, was
bitted by a nasty 'ydropathic dog last week, and
they've took and sent 'im out to the Pastors
Destitute in Paris. Pray the Lord 'e comes out
righted.

" And that's not the worst, neither. Eli Sayers
(what lives next to widow Reeves down in the
bottom) came 'ome last Saturday night a bit
brisk, lost the way to 'is door, and spent the
night in the widder's fowl 'ouse. Fourteen 'ens
was so mazed they 'ung theirselves wi' their 'eads
through the wire-nettin' o' the run, and in 'is
takings Eli must pluck the old torn clean o'
feathers save the 'ackles, and left 'im such a
photer not one o' the other nine 'ens 'asn't done
nothin' since but race the woods, and won't come
near the roost."

And thus we gossiped on a bit, and I told her
of the boots I wanted Bill to mend. But all the
spectacles, alas, proved failures. As I was just
rising to leave, Jenny laid a detaining hand upon
my knee and said in pleading tones :

" Do be pleased to set a while longer, sir. Tis

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS 39

lonesome like when Bill be flittin' out all day for
the Father. I'd like to be talkin' to-night to ye
all about myself. Come last three days, I been
livin' and thrashin' through all me young times
over again ; 'tis a sure sign me account be

nearin'."

And folding her hands together upon the moss
cushion in her lap, Jenny fixed her eyes upon the
glowing embers of the fire, which seemed to
warm to life again that past which lay unrolled
like a map before her. And though she only
marked for me in speech the higher peaks and
cross-roads, her long and frequent pauses were
full of vivid colour, and eloquent of valleys too
deep and sacred for mere words.

" I'm 'ardly knowin' mother what she'm like,
'er dies when I strike four and Susan's nine.
We sisters does for father years and years till
Susie says she tires of the cookin', and the
washin', and the mendin', and the dullness and
what not, and must go to service : go to see the
world — and I bides 'ome. 'Tis 'ard, so 'tis. But
some'ow Jenny never matters — not to say matters,
then : can't dance at 'arvest 'omes, and Fair-day,
and that, and she don't mind ; must just bide 'ome
and glean, so Susan say. . . .

" Father, 'e'm a thatcher, and I'm thirteen or
thereabouts when 'e took 'im the consumptions.

40 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Terrible piece o' work I 'as wi' 'im, day and night,
night and day, and me not strong — never was.
Five years 'e lays and coughs, and two years a 'bed,
and fades and fades to a piece o' muslin afore 'e
dies. But Susan she'm not comin' — never comes.
And now the funeral . . .

" Thomas Arlidge comes a-courtin' o' me.
I'm takin' up wi' Tom. The cottage be me own,
and 'e'm takin' good wages as a carter. Steady,
too, and oh ! that strong. Well growed and as
good as 'e'm big is Tom. I loves 'im — so I do.
The walks we'm avin' together of an evening,
and the presents as 'e'm bringin'. We'm fixin'
up the day, 'is birthday comes just right, the day
afore me own ; 'twill serve proper — so 'twill.
I'm paperin' both me rooms. I got me a blue
dress . . .

:< Susan and the man what she married up to
Bristol (too young she were to a' took and done
it) they must needs get 'em into a railroad acci-
dent (last week it were, it seems) and is both
killed together. And oh ! my dear, they leaves
three little 'uns — Fred, and Mary, and Lizzie-
oldest only five. I can't do other than take
to 'em, can I ? There ain't no one else, not one.
Might 'a been me own, too. I feels as Susan's
lookin' at me to take 'em ; 'tis me duty, so 'tis :
gleanin's. . . .

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS 41

" So the fightin' starts. Thomas is took noddin'
about the little 'uns. Can't stomach 'em. Says
I must take and choose betwixt them and 'im,
and please meself . Please ! Oh ! my dear, if 'e
only knowed. 'E can't wait neither. 'E isn't
waitin', but marries Katie Truscott, so 'e do.
Can't really blame 'im, not to say blame then —
no, I don't, never did, but . . .

;< We'm managin' some fashion. All the children
they'm strong and 'ealthy, but Lor' ! to see 'em
eat. Thank God, I'm not wantin' much meself,
and I'm contrivin'. Master Busk, the keeper,
throws us in a faggot at the door most weeks as
'e'm passin', and now and then a rabbit wi' it.
The shop lets me 'ave all we'm wantin' so long
as I keeps a pig in the old stye against the count.
Me cider-apples fetches me a tidy bit. Aunt
Maggie dies up to Windsor town and leaves me a
very 'andy lill' piece o' money. I'm sellin' me
old bits o' pewter off the dresser — through the
postman I'm doin' it. Every day I'm workin'
in the fields. 'Ay and 'arvest money extra, too.
And the neighbours, they'm just beautiful. Not
one kills a pig but we must 'ave a bite, and the
butter, and the eggs, and the old bits of clothes
they'm givin' us, no one wouldn't never believe.
And oh ! the farmers, they'm good, leavin' us
such corners in the fields all uncut, and spillin'

42 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

such a shower off the rakes — I see 'em missin'
a lot for the purpose. But wi' all the gleanin's,
the children be just as much as I can carry up
the 'ill — just as much . . .

" Mary and Lizzie they'm gone out to service,
good places, too, for both of Jem. Fred's cowman
to Farmer Transome, and wi' 'is wages things is
lighter . . .

" But I'm missin' Fred terrible when 'e goes
down country for a better place — so I be. The
cottage be so lonesome, days is so long, and no one
to work for ; and I longs for the smell o' the chil-
dren back again. . . .

" Bill Rickman's mother died last week and
leaves 'im alone, poor feller. Will I offer to take
'im for a lodger ? Would be neighbourly and
that. 'E weren't never strong — never what you
might call clever in the 'ead — patchy — like a
gammon cured too quick. And there's 'is leg,
too. . . .

" To-day I 'as the chance to go up London
way and make me 'ome along o' cousin Charlotte.
But I'm feelin' I can't be leavin' the old cottage.
Never knowed but this for 'ome. Beside, I never
been no traveller — not to say traveller, then."

And then Jenny awoke from living her own
drama over again, and, raising her eyes to mine,
became the conscious story-teller of the past.

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS 43

1 You see, sir, I never 'ad no ankils : they was
both informed from birth — another link 'twixt
Bill and me. I once went down so far as Hawkes-
combe town, when father was buried. What a
sight o' folks there was there, too. And once we
'ad a carrier started (but 'e misfortunately lost
'is mare, foalin' she was, and give it up), and I were
persuaded to take me a journey into market.
But there ! I were frighted to death at the maze
o' folks reelin' and roamin' to and fro, and I set
me in the waggon in the yard o' the public where
'e put up, wi' a numbriller over me eyes all day
till we started 'ome again — so I did. Never again,
I says : and I never 'ave agained. Them be the
only twice-times I been above a couple o' mile
from me cottage since father went. And they'm
tellin' me as it be worse where me cousin Char-
lotte be to — Sowshark, I think they calls it —
bigger and more flurry-some like. I wouldn't
venture, not if the Vicar of London 'isself come
to fetch me in a gig. And as for the trains ! I
never seen one, and never want to — that I don't —
no, I don't ! "

And once again her eyes dropped to the fire
and the past became the present.

" I'm lodgin' William Rickman. Year in, year
out, 'e bides wi' me. But I'm not 'avin' any life
—not to say life, then. Gleanin's ! And now we'm

44 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

makin' up our minds to get us married. 'E'm
gone thirty-six, and I'm in me fifty-five. And
there be this to it : Vm the only maker as can
really fit me wij the boots. I were tellin' 'im
of it as we set us over the fire last night, and
'e say they must be fitted on the spot, and by one
as takes a real interest in me ankils — like 'e'm
doin'. On the t'other side, I'm the only one
(so 'e say, then) as makes 'is breeches fit 'is seat.
* I can set flat in yours all day, Jenny,' 'e say,
' wi'out no galls nor ribses.' So we takes and fixes
it. Down to Lufton Regis we 'as to journey to
the church in farmer Buckley's milk-cart ; and a
pretty ride it is — so 'tis. And the mare casts a
shoe just as we gets us 'ome, and we nails it up
over the door for luck. . . .

' We'm quite 'appy — though nothin' to be
frightened about. A good man Bill is to me,
so 'e be. The poutry be a thought dullish times,
and Bill isn't pickin' up much news outside. But
what's that ? The only thing I troubles over be
that I never can't learn 'im no prayers — not to say
prayers, then. To please 'im they must rhyme,
and 7 can't make 'em do it, and when 'e does
they seem growed out o' prayers — like a man in
socks and a binder, then. So I learns 'im 'ymns :
'e thinks a power o' them, and they must serve. . . .

" Bill say 'e's not dejectin', and as I got little

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS 45

doin' all day, we takes and adapts a lone child
from the poor-'ouse. Seven 'Arry be, and such a
lad. Such manners to 'im, and such a 'ead-piece :
can read, and write, and sing most any thin'.
And don't 'e love me — more'n anyone I ever
knowed. Tis a gleanin' worth a set o' staddles
to itself — so 'tis. Eight years we 'ad 'im, as
beautiful a time as ever mother 'ad : thank God
for it — so I do. . . .

" 'Arry's growin' big, and Bill's allus a bit
unknowin' wi' the young folks. So 'Arry takes
'im a place down to Williton as garden-boy.
But 'e writes me every week or two, year in, year
out, and comes up now and again to see us.
Of a Sunday we'm 'avin' such teas together—
chudleighs, and cut-rounds, and that — and then
Bill 'e'm sayin' us some poutry. . . .

" To-day 'Arry be up again, and oh ! my dear,
'e say 'e'm goin' listin' for a soldier. 'E offs
to-morrow mornin' as ever is. It give me such a
turn. I'm just a frame wi'out a belly. But 'tis
duty, and what be I but mother to 'im ?

" ' Good son,' I'm sayin'. ' God bless y',
you'm the one 'e loves. Go and do a lot at them
Germins, and remember mother's allus wi' y' —
allus — allus ! I'm right proud o' y', 'Arry lad —
so I be. Just reach us down the Book.'

" I'm readin' 'im the story of lill' David and that

46 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

old Go-liar. And now we'm sayin' ' Our Father '
both together. . . . Ain't the room got terrible
warm, sir ? P'raps you'd be so kind as to ope the
door a foot."

In doing it I gave poor Jenny ample time to
wipe away all traces of the tears which had started
raining down on the moss. I felt that her story
was done — at least, brought down to a point from
which I knew the rest.

" Wi' that, and a box o' pills, I done all I could
for my 'Any — off me knees then you understand.
But 'e were shot — you'm knowin' that — shot
dead, thank God. 'Any were my last gleanin',
and I dropit 'im afore I got me 'ome, so now I've
took to the moss. And if so be as you'm called
on to start re-suitin' for the army, sir, don't y'
take my Bill. Tisn't I'm a coward, but 'e really
bain't fit for travelling and they wouldn't be
understandin' 'is rhythms, and risms, and goin's
on. But you'll be lettin' 'im mend your shoes—
leastways just the eldest ones ? 'Ow dark it gets :
you should be movin' 'ome, sir, the long dark way
you got to go too, and me keepin' of y' so long.
I only pray me ankils last me out me journey . . .
but I wants your blessin' same as allus, sir.
May I ? I never wasn't strong — not to say strong,
then."

" Ah ! Jenny. You carry such a splendid

JENNY RICKMAN'S GLEANINGS 47

sheaf of gleanings, and your journey is so nearly
done — it's I would have your blessing too."

And as I knelt there at her side she placed a
trembling hand upon my own, whence I guided
it to my head. There was a little silence, but at
last I caught her words — " and keep us stronger,
and stronger, and stronger ! "

And oh ! the look of radiant peace upon her
face.

There's the shuffle of Rickety's feet upon the
pitchings.

Outside, the harvest moon was at the full, and
lighted me home to Hawkescombe, but when she
set, she took Jenny with her on her breast.

CHAPTER IV

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN

1 STOOD in Owlhayes farmyard among a
seething mass of life — cows, ponies, pigs,
chickens and dogs, and said " Good morning "
to Mr. Samuel Barter, a very remarkable person.
The youngest of six brothers, who are all over
six feet in height, his height is six-feet-five. In
his younger days he was a typical hillman of
the West of England, noted far and wide for his
enormous muscular development, and his excel-
lence in all trials of strength popular at fairs
and on market days in the West country forty
years ago. But time and several severe illnesses
have greatly reduced him : at sixty-six his thews
and sinews, though still formidable, are not what
they were. His handshake, however, still remains
an experience for those who greet him. His voice
is as notable as his grip ; uncertain in inflection,
its quavering, high pitch, coming from such an
immense chest and throat, lends an added humour
to his droll conversation. He has a fine head,
and a well-moulded, good-featured face, which is

48

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 49

somewhat obscured by a heavy, grey beard.
To-day Sam is not as erect as he was, his head is
not carried with its former dignity : his eye has
lost much of its lustre, and if his farming flourishes
(his holding has been tenanted by one of his name
for five generations without a break), I fear the
profits only minister to his besetting trouble —
cider. Sam's own particular is not the ordinary
brew, but a treble-distilled essence known as
cider- wine, strong enough to lift the scalp of
the uninitiated, a bottle of which may always
be seen peeping out of his ample coat pocket.
I am very fond of Sam, but I fear . . .

" Good mornin' to you, sir/' said Sam cor-
dially. " Please to step inside and take a drop
of something."

' Thank you very much, Mr. Barter," said I,
!< but I must not stop, as I have much to do this
morning. What I came for is to ask permission
to make free of your meadows for studying bird
life. I will be very careful of the crops, and do
no damage."

" Go where you please, sir, and when you
please, and welcome, but just step inside five
minutes. I be sorry, but missus she be washing."

" Do you know, Mr. Barter, that I have never
yet had the pleasure of meeting your good
wife ? "

5o SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

And Sam fixed me with a bleary, incredulous
eye.

" Never met — don't know my missus ? What !
Not know the woman with half a face ? Shroud
me ! Here, Matilda ! (She'm a wee bit saucy
washin' days, is Matilda.) Matilda ! "

Mrs. Barter stepped forth from a steaming
outhouse, and I understood. Poor thing ! A
large " port wine " mark divided her face exactly
into halves.

After a few minutes' chat I said I must be
moving, and as Sam was going my way we set
out together.

" So I hear you have got your new Rector,
Mr. Barter. I hope things will be happier in the
parish now. You must do your best as church-
warden to help him in every possible way, you
know."

* Well, sir, he'm a nice spoken sort of a man.
'Ad quite a friendly tell with him in the vestry
after service last Sunday, and I give him a hearty
welcome. * I hope we shall be great friends,
Mr. Churchwarden, and work together for the
common good,' he say, and I think it must 'ave
come out of a book by the way 'e said it, ' 'Owever
—as for friends, I hope so with all my 'eart,'
I says, ' but we'll winter ye and summer ye afore
we says too much to that. And don't you be in

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 51

too great an 'urry after the common good, till
you know what it be,' I says. c The common good
be largely works, and with them the rest will come
all in good time. Last parson Je 'oped to be
friends, too, but under a month 'e treated we like a
forkful o' droppin's. He was fly enough in the
pulpit, always tryin' to make our sins " jump out
of us " as 'e said, but I telled 'im once in this very
room, ' Parson,' I says, * we'm your sheep, but
you don't come near us in the week, so we do
remain verminful Sundays, and you can't make
ticks skip.'

" Then again, last Palm Sunday, without a
word to anyone 'e give out as the offertory Easter
Day would be given to the Rector, and when I
tells 'im on the quiet as this was a new thing and
the churchwardens should 'ave been consulted,
he was took frisky about it, so I says I should not
be collectin' at all. He got Bill Berry — the
" widder," as we calls 'im — (what's got a widder
mother, that is) — to take the nose-bag, and after
service I counted it out on this very table, and
bids 'im welcome to the bellyful of wind it was
—threepence halfpenny, a peppermint drop, and
a boot pertecter.

" But I touched the hollow of his thigh (as
you might say) at the jumble sale. He was for
sellin' a pair of black trousers to my niece, Mrs.

52 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Garland. * Hold 'em up to the light,' I says to
her. * There be a hole in the sittin' bit o' they.
I see 'em split abroad when his reverence picked
up a pin off the vestry floor Sunday week.'
She did, and we found it were mended on the
inside with a bit of black stickin' plaster. c 'Tain't
honest,' I says. ' Mr. Barter,' he says, ' you'm
drunk.' * Maybe,' I says, ' but not as tight as
your breeches. Us don't grow nothin' for tail-
holes on we.' From that day he was took broody,
but all his eggs must a been addled, for within a
month he'd resignated.

" 'Well, farmer,' the new Rector say when I
done, ' you 'ave give me a deal to think over and
digest for my supper to-night. I think you may
be said to 'ave dealt a trifle brisk wi' one another,
and o' course I've only 'eard one side o' the story,
and am scarcely in a position to judge.'

" ' You'm never like to 'ear no other, sir,' I
says. ' And as for judgin', there's no call — 'e
judged 'isself and pleaded guilty when 'e 'opped
off 'is perch. We'em plain folks, plain lookin',
plain thinkin', plain spoken, plain doin', but
our 'carts' strong and we'm sound in the wind
if you listen to it through the Lord's telescope-
human nature. 'Tis the best ready reckoner ever
made ; carry 'im in y'ur pocket and 'e'll tell
ye more nor any o' y'ur books. But we fidgets

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 53

on a curb and a bearin' rein, and kicks at a whip.
Light 'ands does it all the way 'ome.'

" And I said 'im good night, and we outed by
different doors.

" But I felt 'twas a stifBsh handicap lettin' the
trousers into secrets and givin' no encouragement
to the skirts. Like Solomon, I be in favour of
'alves when there's a double claim. And I
hadn't left the vestry twenty paces from my tell
wi' the new man afore I trips against 'is rib.
Introducin's wasn't needed, for what between 'er
umbrella inside-outin' in the wind and a shred of
orange peel in 'er road, I found 'er turned turtle,
way-layin' me on the asphalt path and claimin'
from me to give 'er a lift on to 'er feet, same as I
just done 'er master.

" * A friend in need, Mr. Barter,' she say as I
righted 'er, ' is a friend indeed. Deeds and not
words is my own motto through life.'

" ' We'em thankful to know that,' I says,
' for we 'ave found in the past as the deeds gets
mostly drowned in a flood of explainin's.'

' Oh ! ' she runs on, ' but I have a winter
programme for the village already sketched out
which I feel sure will meet with your warm
approval and the co-operation of your wife :
indeed I 'ave taken the liberty of sendin' 'er a
copy and hope to call and discuss it at length

54 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

with her this week, so please ask 'er to 'ave
suggestions ready for me. I am most anxious
for our people to have every day occupied with
really useful and unselfish work, huntin' after
those things which really matter. Anythin'
which tends to make their dull lives Busy and
Bright, both with big B's '

" ' Steady, ma'am — steady, steady/ I says.
* Just stop a minute and breathe, or you'll be
ridin' over the 'ounds. The season's early,
you mind, and your fences is blind. There's
wire and water in plenty in this parish and the
goin' be of ten-times wonderful heavy. You
must learn your new country afore you publish
your meets, and even then you'll be gettin' no
runs if you don't know where to stop the earths.
Now me and my Matilda 'ad a thrash over your
programme only as late as last night. There's
your perigraph about " Cosy Chats on Missions."
Now I don't pertend to know who Miss Zenana
was, but I do know as there's many livin' 'ere
which if they ain't got Bible names needs washin'
and clothin' and feedin' afore they can see the
difference a'tween theirselves and them black
brethren, or take any interest in the makin' of
foreigners decent.'

" ' But, Mr. Barter,' she chips in, ' as Christians

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 55

we 'ave our marchin' orders : you must remember
the command '

* Right, ma'am, right you are,' I says, ' and
marchin' means drillin' at 'ome first, or they'll
be fallin' out with feet fever for sure. Then
there's a deal about Mothers' Meetin's to make
shifts and such-like for them abroad. Now I
understand from Matilda as she's seen at them
meetin's more fingers pricked wi' gossip than
wi' needles, and more yards of reputation cut
up and spoiled than was ever gathered in the
sewin' o' calico petticoats. Show 'em 'ow to
make and mend their own bits o' things for their
'omes first — the question is, can you do it ? '

4 I should 'ope so, Mr. Barter,' she say.
' I do all my husband's mendin' myself.'

" c Then I'm doubtin', I says ; ' for my niece
what did your wash last week says the darnin'
o' your man's socks must ha' been done wi' a
pitchin'-fork, such a piece of work as it was :
a lump like a rook's nest on the heel o' one, she
say. And I 'eard 'er bet Matilda a sittin' o'
duck's eggs to a row o' pins as Vll limp up the
pulpit stairs under a month. You'm quite likely
laughin' at me in the tent door, as I might say, but
you've no need to, for they tells me you'm blessed
wi' five children. Now see, you can't giddy about
at all these meetin's and at the same time play

56 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

fair by them brats. Your eldest lad 'ad a pocketful
o' my Blenheims last evenin' — the only tree o'
them apples in the whole orchard — and him not
been in the parish a week. Look to that now ! '

" ' Boys will be boys, Mr. Barter/ she say,
' though I'm more than shocked — '

" ' No, no/ I says. ' I'm not blamin' 'im for
spottin' the tree and havin' 'em — shows 'is good
sense, I telled 'im so. What I banged 'is ears
for was for lettin' me catch 'im. He'd be twice
as sharp if you took and trained 'im, and he's
worth it, for I seen 'im flippin' the pips at the
Apostles in the south window durin' the sermon
this very evenin', and 'e made a bull of Luke
twice to my certain knowledge. He'll do you more
credit than any o' these Parish Converse-sat-
downies as you talks about — palaverin's and
spittle-splittin's I calls 'em. Be you supposin'
your new parishioners ain't Busy already wi' a
big B ? What price Mrs. Grieg what's got
fifteen joints to 'er tail to date, and likely more to
come ? It takes some sewin' makin' figleaves
for fifteen and keepin' 'em mended. Show 'er 'ow
to do it. Big B's, eh ? They got it bad already,
and 'tis Blight, the blight o' Bills and Bogs and
Bothers what blasts their Bile and makes them
Dull wi' a big D. Teach 'em to look at 'ome first,
and show 'em how to 'elp theirselves — to Brighten

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 57

their Bellies wi' Bread and Butter, and Bacon and
Beef ; to Brighten their Babies with Boots and
Breeches, and Bonnets and Bibs ; to Brighten
their Barracks wi' Beds and Blankets, and Besoms

and Baths ; wi' Well, I don't know o' much else

beginnin* wi' a Big B, 'cept Baccy and Beer and
maybe you wouldn't be doin' much in them.
But if we gets on to the next letter o' the alphabet,
C . . . ' but when I looked down for 'er she'd
gone — which was a pity, as I 'ad already thought
o' several big C's.

" So you see, sir," Sam concluded, " I done
all I could to make the new folks comfortable,
and put 'em in the way o' things like."

As I went away I felt sure that Sam was a man
of parts, but it was only some months later that
I found out what other parts he could play.
It happened one evening that I was passing the
school at Combe St. Ambrose when Miss Blake,
the schoolmistress, spoke to me.

!C If you could very kindly spare five minutes,
sir, I should be so grateful if you would step
into the class-room."

" Of course I will, but what is the trouble,
Miss Blake ? "

" It's only Mr. Barter, sir. He just needs a
little advice and a cheery word in the infant's
class-room."

S8 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

I little guessed what was in store for me.
Upon the floor sat my friend the churchwarden,
covered from head to foot in a mustard-coloured
horse-rug, chewing the end of his beard — the
very incarnation of abject despair. At his side,
but seated on a desk, was his fellow-warden,
Mr. Wallace, overseer at the Manor Farm.

" Thanks be," quoth Mr. Barter, evidently
much relieved at my entrance. " You'm the very
gentleman we'm wantin' to put us through
our paces. Now Wallace, look spry and tell 'im
what this 'ere tablet do signify."

From Mr. Wallace I gathered that an enter-
tainment which had been organised by the
schoolmistress and a few other ardent spirits
was to be given the very next evening on behalf
of the Waifs and Strays' Society, and the church-
wardens, much against their will, had been
pressed into providing a turn in some " Tableaux
Vivants."

" 'Tis a bit o' humour they'm after," explained
Sam from under his rug on the floor, " and it
appears to me they'll 'ave it, seein' how they 'ave a
started to deck me out. I understand there's to
be no speakin' done, else they might get more
than they bargained for — me in such a scuttery as
they've a sewed together ! "

" Oh, well, that is half the fun, Barter," I said,

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 59

trying my best to soothe him. " But what is the
subject to be represented ? "

" Tis called ' The Babes in the 'Ood,' or some
such silliness, an4 'tis in two picturs. First,
the babies do go to sleep as babies ; and second,
they do wake up after years and years, and 'ave
of course growed out o' their clothes, and that's
where the fun is to be, seemin'ly, and this 'ere
be the 'hearsal."

"Ah, I see," said I. " Are you dressed for
your part ? "

E< In a way o' speakin', but Wallace's rig-out
ain't finished, so 'e be drillin' in mufti, as you
might say."

:< So I see, but are both scenes to be gone
through to-night ? "

" Bless you, yes, sir. The sleepin' business in
the first tablet is took by two kids of Mrs. Reed's,
what lives down to Haccombe Bottom. The 'ood
be pictured by some green curtains as much like a
'ood as you be. And the robin, what spreads the
leaves over 'em, is took by young Harry Luster
in a red chemise wi' a feather dustin' broom
stuck out be'ind. Lor ! what a figure of a bird
'e do look to be sure ! He been spreadin' leaves
on the stage three-quarters of an hour good this
very afternoon, till I took and stoppit the rubbish,
and sent 'em all 'ome to bed. We can flamm

60 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

through the second pictur for which we'm
responsible without they peepin' about."

" Very well," said I. " Let us go into the school,
and I will coach you. I suppose you are the
grown-up prince, Barter, and Mr. Wallace "

" The shoe's on t'other foot, sir. Wallace,
'e be the Seraph, and I be the she Cherubim,
worse luck. Me ! — six foot five in me socks !
'Tis unbelievable ! * Enter into the spirit o' the
thing/ they do keep sayin' to me. I be entered
a fortnight ago and more. Howsoever, I don't
feel one whit like that she princess ! "

It was only with great difficulty that I restrained
unseemly laughter.

" But how about your beard, man ? "

" Oh ! I 'ides 'er under a mast, sir."

" Very good ; come on when you are ready,
and pose yourselves as you think most natural,
and when you say ' Ready ' I will draw the
curtains and then criticise the effect."

Presently I heard a stentorian ' Ready ! ' and
pulled the string. For several moments I was
held speechless. If humour was the goal in view,
they had indeed attained it. There stood Sam
at rigid " attention " in a " cherub's " mask,
with a mane of golden hair flowing down his
back, while, from under the mask, horns of grey
beard protruded, like tusks, for at least a couple

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 61

of inches. The upper part of his huge body was
entirely smothered with dead leaves sewn on some
slight foundation. Dangling from a length of
string round his neck was a gigantic " baby
comforter," presumably as connecting link with
the previous tableau. A ballet dancer's skirt of
muslin, gauze, and tinsel reached half-way to
his knees, and stood out like the leaves of an
immense water-lily. Beneath it hung down his
own blue cotton shirt. His legs were encased in
thin combinations, supposed to conceal his too
obviously masculine limbs, which terminated in a
pair of white socks and black goloshes with silver-
paper buckles. Upon his hands he wore a pair
of open-work mittens. Sam's agony was such
that he had to express it.

" Whist me ! Was ever sane man made to
look such a gudgeon, sir ? y:

" Hush, hush ! " said I. " Remember, you
must not speak a word. Now just listen and do as
I tell you."

But his shame made Barter garrulous.

" How do the bust of me figure out, sir ?
I drawed the line at stays, 'cause my breathin'
ain't what it was."

' Wait a moment now and let me see "

" Which leg frames the best to your way oj

62 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

thinkin', sir ? Wallace, he took and shaved the
right one a bit, but he nigh ham-stringed me
doin' of it, so we left t'other " ; which, indeed,
was obvious, large black bristles, like those of a
gorilla, pushing their way through the com-
binations.

" We will arrange that presently. Just now I
want "

" You can't arrange them hairs, sir. That's
just where it is : they drags up and comes through
as you pull the blasted things on. They must
be as they be, or shaved like the other, and that I
never "

" They will do very nicely, Barter. Now
place your left foot a bit forward."

" The Almighty 'ave forbid it, sir. These 'ere
compilations would split in the fork they be
that rotten. It all come of Miss Blake washin'
of 'em in Condor's Fluid for to get the skin
colour."

" Then turn round slightly to your right," I
suggested.

" Not likely, either. This 'ere ruffle don't
finish off well be'ind — wasn't enough gathers to
go round, I understand — so I was perticlar
warned to present a bold front, and nothin' more.
Take a peep and see, Mr. Wallace, you'm doin'
nothin'. It don't reach, do it ? I thought as

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 63

much. And didn't I ought to 'ave a girdel or
some 'at round me belly, sir ? "

" If you could only keep quiet for two
minutes "

But it was no use. The princess began a furious
argument with her hands.

" Couldn't I moult these mitts, or ear-caps,
or whatever they do represent ? Superflus
without flies, and is all agin the circulation."

" Yes," said I. " They will make no differ-

ence.'3

'Twill to me, though." And with two rents
the mittens lay dead upon the floor. "And I
should feel a thought steadier, not so defenceless
then, with a shepherd's crook or even a parasol
in me 'and — or have we overslept such-like
vanities ? — though we won't be allowed to throw
anything, I suppose, if the audience do get took
up-rearious ? "

" Course not ! " exclaimed Mr. Wallace.
" We'm only picturs — still life — dead like."

1 Wish I was ! Wallace, you been dustin'
your meaders wi' artificial I can tell. I sniffs it
wonderful strong. Don't you go and leave any
on my 'air when you puts your arm round my
withers."

!< Now, gentlemen, what I would suggest "

" There's to be soft music durin' the scene,

64 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

I understand," broke in Mr. Wallace. " Concer-
tina or two mouth organs, but I ain't 'card the
tune."

" Dead March for Samuel, I suggest," replied
Barter, " and don't you get too lively with your
feet. They'm neighbourly to my corns, remem-
ber— stand over a bit, that's better. Where be
I to fix my eyes, sir ? Daresn't look at the con-
gregation."

" Oh, on Mr. Wallace, the prince, of course."

" Tis a giddy prospect whatever — a fairy
scene and no error."

" Now, prince, go close to the princess, and
put your right arm round her waist — yes, a little
closer still."

" 'Ere ! " exclaimed Wallace, " take and tuck
your whisker in under the mast — it tickles my
cheek."

" You be blowed," replied the princess.
" What's a trifle of tickle compared to what I be
sufferin' ? "

Obviously Mr. Barter was getting to the extreme
end of his tether, so I hastened to approve the
pose.

" That is excellent," I said. " It couldn't be
better. Now keep quite still one moment "

" Don't press that teat affair agin me, Mr.
Wallace. You've no morsel o' sense. It 'ave a

SAM BARTER, CHURCHWARDEN 65

sharp bone lip to it ..." But he was here
rudely interrupted by a loud report, and in a
moment the peace of the scene was transformed
into pandemonium. Barter was raging like a bull.

" What has happened now ? " I asked.
" Steady, Sam, steady, man "

" Damn you for a clumsy bullock, Wallace.
You knowed as them paps wasn't strong, and now
my left breast's torpedoed. They was done with
air-balls, and I be all o' one side now, and no
shape whatever." And he fled the stage.

By the time I reached the green-room the pink
combinations were in shreds, and Mr. Barter
was capering about in a blue cotton shirt open
at the chest, where a large blue patch showed
plainly that the torpedo had gone home. He was
inarticulate with fury ; indeed, the only printable
observation upon which he ventured ere we parted
was : " Waifs and Strays to the life this is, but
dratted if I knows which I be ! "

I never heard how the performance proper
was ultimately rendered or received. I rather
fancy the " air-ball " was not the only thing
that exploded.

CHAPTER V

THE MILKY WAY

WOODLEIGH FARM is a holding of
twenty-eight acres of picturesque and
secluded meadows climbing down the south slope
of a steep hill, at whose foot, through a spinney,
runs a merry burn. The homestead stands on its
bank. Here live Mr. and Mrs. Keitch. Levi is
a man past middle age, of medium height, with a
shaggy, moth-eaten beard, and a head of tousled
hair streaked with grey. He has an unintelligent,
vacant face, with dull, bleared eyes, and is loose-
limbed and uncertain in every movement, slow
and halting of speech. His head is for ever
crowned with a hard felt hat perpetually dented
in at the top and green with age, and his shambling
legs are gaitered in box-cloth leggings, once fawn-
coloured.

In everything his very opposite, his wife,
Keziah, is sharp, energetic, and sprightly in
manner, her apron always spotless, and her
constant curtsey almost embarrassing. Her hair
is smoothed flat and even as the paint on a Dutch

66

THE MILKY WAY 67

doll, and her face is of a bright complexion to
match. When surprised or interested, she has a
habit of throwing up her arms dramatically to
heaven, and letting them descend into her lap
with a flop.

This couple have done their duty by the State
nobly, their union being blessed with fourteen
hale children.

I called one hot and thirsty afternoon at their
farm for a glass of milk. When the door was
opened I saw the husband sitting in the chimney-
corner, shaking like a leaf, while the wife, standing
with the handle of the door in one hand, dried
her eyes in the corner of her apron with the other,
and for some moments continued to curtsey at
intervals. Obviously the peace of their home had
been stirred to its depths, and I therefore
apologised for disturbing them, and begged to
withdraw.

" No, sir, please, sir, please come you in and
take a seat," implored Keziah. " We'm in a
terrible rout 'tis true, but if I may make so bold
it's like this, sir "

She brought forward a chair while she was
speaking and beckoned me to it. As I crossed
the room I saw that the pale-faced, horror-stricken
man over the fire was in a condition of fear
bordering on imbecility : his eyes rolled his

68 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

limbs twitched, and it was plain that cider or
some disaster had reduced his nerves to a
" diddering " jelly.

" It's like this, sir," continued Keziah. " Our
Joe 'as been and cut 'is finger, you see. With
a hook 'e done it, furze choppin' on the
common "

" Cut 'is finger ! " broke in the husband in a
hoarse tremolo, waving his arms in a fashion
little short of lunacy. " Cut 'is finger ! Cut it ! !
. . . Cut it ! ! ! O, my golly ! Why don't you
say pricked it, woman ? ... or pinched it ...
or squeezed it ! Don't let Keziah speak, sir, she
don't know 'ow to say it. Joe 'ave been and
cut 'is bloody thumb off ! "

He covered his face with his hands, but whilst
I tried to find soothing words to fit the tragedy ,
he went on :

" What price gloves now, eh ? Good for scissors
cuttin' ! What about his near-side gaiter buttons ?
Think o' milkin' wi'out a thumb ! 'E didn't
'alf cut it off, neither, did 'e ? Not 'alf. Why "
(rising from his seat and becoming positively
dribbling), " 'e comes in 'ere just as we was
'avin' a early tea, 'e comes in and stands at the
table lookin' as dobbly as a maggot, and I says
to 'im, I says, ' Where's your manners to ? Take

THE MILKY WAY 69

yer 'at off and ask a blessin'.' Not 'e, so I just
tips it off 'is 'ead meself, and — and — and 'is
thumb fell flup into the drippin' ! ! Oh, my
Lord ! " And he again subsided into his chair.

" 'Tis gospel, sir." His wife took up the parable.
" Every word he says is true — only Levi do take
it so badly if things 'appen sudden-like. You
see, I don't doubt but what Joe 'e was bringin'
it back under 'is cap for me to see, and if I might
make so bold I got it 'ere in the Noah's Ark on
the mantel."

As she spoke she reached for that china orna-
ment over her husband's head. But he had either
heard or divined her intention, and was beyond
facing " it " a second time, for with an " Oh, my
Lord ! " he crossed the floor like a streak and was
gone. At that Keziah seemed to break down,
for when I turned to speak with her she was sobbing
with her apron thrown over her head. I soon
got out of her, however, that not only was Levi's
tale true, but that Joe had already departed for
the surgery in the nearest town. As his mother
put it, he was " quite snug and cosy on a dray-
load o' sheepskins, as was bound for the tannery
down-along."

She then pressed me to take a cup of tea, and,
as I drank, a loud crash against the side-wall

7o SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

was the signal for Mrs. Keitch to thrust her head
through the lattice window and shout :

" Levi, let go them udders, do ! He'm a bit
tricksy with 'em, sir, when 'e'm carryin' a drop o'
cider, and gets actin' a tug-o'-war with the poor
craturs. No wonder that one kicked, for they
was milked not half an hour agone. But in 'is
takings we do mostly find Levi wi' a stool some-
where. Only two weeks since, Joe (what belongs
to the thumb, sir) 'e comes in and says, ' Dad's
got the milk fever again,' and sure enough, there
we finds 'im in the back parlour a'milkin o' the
curtain tassels ! 'Tis so simple-like, but, there,
'e were always a bit diddy from a lad."

As though to bear out her statement, at that
moment Levi pushed his head through the back-
door with the dramatic announcement : " Keziah !
Rebekah's dry — oh, my Lord ! " And was once
more lost to view.

Mrs. Keitch resumed : " Sad as 'tis for poor
Joe's thumb, already I seems to see an 'igher
power a guidin' of 'is 'ook, sir. Yes, I do believe
I do ! Joe be the only one of my fourteen what
really do favour Levi and 'is sloppiness. 'E always
'ave been one for milkin', 'as Joe, and takes
a'most an un'ealthy pleasure in it. True, I
catched Annie, my youngest — (terrible gert girl

THE MILKY WAY 71

for her years, is Annie) — I catched 'er with
symptoms, as late as Friday. Playin' in the road,
she was, with a bucket and toy squirt in a puddle.
I shall keep an eye lifted on 'er for a bit. But I
'ope I taken 'er in good time as I did Thomas.
I found six months back-along as 'e was bein'
learned to chime the church bells and play tunes
on 'em with a new 'paratus with handles, as they
set up in the tower last Easter, but 'e've showed
nothin' since I stoppit that. Maybe, 'tis to
remove 'is temptation as the Lord 'ave dropped
on Joe's poor thumb. We can't say for certain,
but we may think so, I suppose. The two ruts
I spends my spare time keepin' my fourteen's
wheels out of, is cider and milkin'. They'm all
teetattlers from birth, and I do hope — but I've
had a deal of anxiety again of late all along of a
mission what was held in the parish a few weeks
back-along. As a mother of fourteen and a dairy
farm, I don't 'old with such. No, I don't. The
prayin' woman what come around this district
was a bright young spark, I reckon, what knows
'er way up and down the ladder blindfold — but
windy, you understand, wonderful windy ! With-
out knowin' it, 'er put temptations in my chil-
dren's path by talkin' about the need of feedin'
the young with milk and not with meat ; as new-

72 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

born babies they should desire the milk of the
Word ; lookin' forward to a future Home flowin'
with milk an' honey ; and so forth, and such like,
and them and that.

" 'Owever I couldn't refuse 'er one effort in my
'ouse, but 'avin' invited 'er one day for eleven
forty-five, I sets our cuckoo clock for twelve, surely
thinkin' that would erupt' er. But I didn't need
to 'ave bothered, for the fishmonger come round
(a thing 'e rarely does) and Levi took and bought
a very tasty 'addick, which 'e throwed through
the winder where we knelt, and it brought up
on the table just in front of the prayin' woman,
the tail nigh givin' her a flip in the face, if it didn't
quite. And layin' there with the sun hot on it
that wasn't no incense to any of us, and I see
the prayin' woman sniffin' for a inspiration
to a short cut in 'er collect. But it was the arrival
of three of my cats atop of the fish — (what 'ad
watched it come, you understand) — as finished
the job. She was up and off— wonderful slippy
afore ever the bird in the clock spoke, and I ain't
seen 'er since. Oh, my blessedness ! There 'e
goes again. I do wonder where he'm to now
then."

This last remark was occasioned by our catching
sight of Levi, still armed with pail and milking
stool, crossing the yard outside with very uncertain

THE MILKY WAY

73

gait. Seeing him disappear into a barn, however,
apparently set his good wife's mind at rest,
for heaving a deep sigh of relief she added,
" Oh, well, there's nothin' in there but carrots
and a few lambs' tails. He won't do no harm
to they, pull as he may."

CHAPTER VI

LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE

S I was asking one afternoon about Joe
Keitch's hand I learned from his mother
that Louisa Knibb — by courtesy, Mrs. Knibb,
her next-door neighbour — was unwell, and would
be glad to see me.

Fuchsia Cottage, some two hundred yards from
Woodleigh Farm, is a sweet little place with a
moss-grown thatched roof and walls which are
creeper-clad and covered with clematis, roses,
scented verbena, and wistaria. In front the strip
of garden, protected by a neat row of wooden
palings, over which the cottage windows wink
into the road, is gay with simple flowers. With no
houses nearer than the farm and one deserted
and dilapidated cottage just opposite, it is in a
lonely enough situation.

In answer to my knock I was invited by a distant
voice to enter and be pleased to walk upstairs.
Within, all the appointments were scrupulously
clean, and if the furniture was simple to the point

74

LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE 75

of severity, traces of " natty " little old-maidish
contrivances met me at every turn.

In the bedroom, at the top of the stairs, lay
Mrs. Knibb, the picture of a fine old woman,
still retaining good, clear-cut features and spark-
ling brown eyes, who bade me welcome when
I told her who I was, and how I came to be
there.

" Very kind in Mrs. Keitch, I'm sure. Yes,
I'm poorly, and the sore of it lies in that I got
no one to do nothin' for me, sir, so I can't ask
you to set by the fire, there bein' none. But there !
I mustn't complain, my health's been very tidy
up till now."

" You live quite alone ? And have you no
relations anywhere who could come to you for a
week or two ? " I asked.

" Solitary as a hermit, sir. Not a relative in
this world as I knows of — 'cept, well, he be me
cousin to be sure "

" Oh, a man is no use," I said. " You want a
nurse."

It was sufficiently obvious that the poor thing
was really ill, and likely enough a hospital
case.

" Why not go to the County Hospital, Mrs.
Knibb, just for a short visit ? "

" Out of the question, sir, excuse me contra-

76 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

dictin' of you. Out of all reason — why, 'tis
suicide ! "

" Surely not ! I can give you a ticket, and they
will take great care of you/'

" As a new-comer hereabouts, o' course you'm
a stranger and a pilgrim. But if you can put up
with a trifle o' family 'istory, I can make it all as
plain as the Book itself."

And arranging herself more comfortably in the
bed, and re-tying the strings of her cap under her
chin, Mrs. Knibb entered on the narration with
remarkable vigour.

" This 'ouse belonged to my father, Amos
Knibb, and I were 'is only child, and did for 'im
years and years after mother was graved. He
took 'is inheritance seventeen years back-along,
too, but afore 'e set out 'e were very warm on my
marryin' 'is nephew, John Coker. But Lord !
I was past marryin' and givin' in marriage by
then, and as for John Coker ! Well, there ! !
' No, dad, never,' I says. * 'Ow be you to live,
then ? ' he asks. ' By the lace-mendin' and the
glove-makin', same as I always done,' I says.
' But you'll 'ave this 'ouse, Louisa, and 'tis a
tidy lill' 'ive. 'Tisn't seemly to waste it on one
alone. Take and marry 'im, lass. You might
inform 'im, likely, if 'e be a bit wild.' * He don't
want no informin', I says. ' 'Tis the 'ouse he be

LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE 77

after, and a downright bad man at 'eart, as you
know well, dad. I be surprised in you. Why, 'is
throat be an open sepulchre, and I'd rather be
buried decent nor swallowed up of 'im.'

" * You might take and lead 'im through this
desert of sin, Louisa/ says father. ' Maybe,
'tis your mission from on 'igh to move 'is stubborn,
spotted nature, with your meek and gentle 'and
and ready words.'

" ' Gentle won't do it,' I says. ' And meek,
eh ? Moses wouldn't 'a done much on a rockin'
'orse, even with Aaron up be'ind,' I says.

" Father seemed terrible 'eart-set on it, 'owever,
and then one day 'e was struck simple, and was
took sudden in the end thereof.

" Now when I was scurryin' things round for
a bit o' black, and that, John Coker comes in —
that's my same cousin as bides opposite ('im
with a livin' pimpsel on 'is cheek) — and 'e say,
' You don't need to look for the will, 'cause I
knows where 'tis to — in my 'ouse and keepin'
as bein' executioner.'

" So when the funeral was over (me and John
was the only followers) 'e took and brought the
dockiment and showed it to me.

" Oh, dear ! Oh, my dear, dear ! ! Such a
will it was, as you wouldn't think from my old
dad. 'Twas my death warrant, no less, and a

78 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

livin' death at that. The 'ouse, so it was wrote,
and everythin' in it was for me, but only on the
understandin' as I should marry John Coker ;
or else, if I didn't, I must never leave the cottage
for more than two hours at any time, for if I did,
John was to 'ave the right to it and everythin'
in it for 'is, and me turned out.

" There it was all as plain as plain, and 'twas
signed at bottom by dad, and two other men what
worked over to farmer Transome's, but they had
'a left some weeks afore dad was called."

Having wiped away a tear on the sheet, Mrs.
Knibb sat up in the bed, and, throwing a shawl
over her shoulders, applied herself with even
more energy than before to the recitation of
history.

" O' course, you'll understand we 'ad some
steam over it. John say the only possible way
was for me to take 'im into the Ark, and I says
the only thing was for 'im to wait and get in
when I done with it, and got my orders to steer
for Araratty — or earlier, if I took and broke the
terms o' the will.

" ' For they was all decent animals what was
took into the Ark,' I says. ' No room for dirt
or bad manners, there bein' no brooms them early
days, and if Master Shem or Japhey 'ad took and

LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE 79

got tight, same as you does, where would the skiff
a been to ? ' I says.

" ' You can't break my spirit,' I telled 'im.
He sweared till 'e sweated as 'e would 'ave the
'ouse, whilst I folded me 'ands and closed me
eyes, and said nothin' more than * Ignorant,'
' Rebellious,' ' Blasphemious,' ' Stiffnecked,'
' Buttonhooks,' * Pharisees,' and such-like sooth-
in' words as come 'andy, till at last 'e left in an
'urricane. So there it is, and 'ave been ever since,
'e and me watchin' and watchin', the spirit against
the letter and the letter against the spirit, and
both be wearin' a trifle thin."

" Do you mean, Mrs. Knibb," said I, " that
for seventeen years "

But without allowing me to finish she broke
in, " For seventeen years John ain't catched me
two hours off these premises, sir. Neighbours
and passers-by does my shoppin', fetches and takes
my lace and gloves and that, and all the while 'e
'aven't as you might say took 'is eye off the place."

" What is his work then ? " I asked. " How
does he earn his own living ? "

" 'E do a bit o' work times, when 'e'm minded
to ; but 'e 'ops back 'alf a dozen times in a day
to see and make sure as I be about. I've knowed
'im to come of a night, even, and knock at the
door till I speaks, or, better, drops some'at at

8o SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Jim. Last time ' Mizpah ' I says, out o' this
winder, and 'e took the block o' wood on side of
'is 'ead, which put a full stop to that little dance.
' Go 'ome and lay a fig on it/ I says. Of a day
'is winders overlook mine — you may see 'im
watchin' there now, I'll be bound."

I looked out, and sure enough I saw John Coker
at his window.

" I 'ave a' tried ev'ry way thinkable to get a
side snap on 'im, but 'e bain't to be took in any-
wise. Oh, 'e's sharp, is John Coker, nail o'
Satan's claw as was never cut. I 'ave done 'im
seventeen years, but I feels most past it now. 'E
'aven't never offered no violence, I'll say that for
'im — his stomick ain't built that way. Of a fine
evenin' 'e'll set in 'is garden, and make fun o' me
for * playin' with 'is affections,' as 'e says, and
'ot nights 'is langwidge is at times most impossible.
'Tis a wonder 'e 'aven't been took with a palsy,
or some 'at in 'is vitals afore this. You see, there's
a nice bit o' garden, and a well, and a few cider
trees, and a tool shed and that — them's where 'is
affections is to. I can't 'ardly step abroad o' the
garden without 'is seein' me.

" I started by 'avin' new locks to the doors,
'im 'avin' keys fittin' the old 'uns, and I went out
just to try 'im, but I were back twenty minutes
within me two hours, to find 'im with a smile on

LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE 81

'is face. On one side of it, 'owever, the pimpsel
be 'ard set and won't stretch. And there 'e was,
waitin' with a crowbar to break in. That wasn't
no go !

" Another time I was told 'e was abed with
the brownkitties, so off I slips to the town, but
by gettin' a lift in a milk cart I was back 'ome
inside me time, and finds 'im in the garden with a
gun, ready for to shoot the lill' dog as I'd left
in charge.

" * You'm that attractive, Louisa,' 'e say, ' I
be bound to come nibblin,' you see.'

' You skip now, sharp,' I says, and with a
mop I soon dusted un into the road.

' Then a friend 'o mine come to tea with me
one day, and counsels me to let 'im in and prepare
a welcome for 'im what 'e might remember and
keep 'is distance thereafter. I took and done all as
she telled me — pasted up the doors and winders
and chimbleys and that with brown paper, and
next day I draws down the blinds and lights a
sulphuric candle (what she sent me) in each room,
each one sittin' in a saucer. ' 'Tis as good as a
spring clean whatever,' she telled me, ' and will
do the place no end o' good, beside John Coker.
Then I sets off for a little walk, but creeps back
very quiet down the garden hedge and 'ides
'andy, so as if 'e comes and opes the door I can

8z SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

bang it to be'ind 'im, and give Jim a dose of the
muck inside. Well, I waited a good hour, when
all of a sudden my black cat, Jezebel, come out o'
the scullery-sink-drain like a bullet, 'er coat set
on end stiff as bristles, and 'er tail straight as a
steeple. She took and went up the creepers side
oj the 'ouse like a thing demented, and started
on the thatch atop, pullin' it out any'ow, and
cuttin' such a caper as never was. That frighted
me. What if the man 'ad arrived afore I come
back ? What if I 'ad took and overstepped the
bounds of my martyrism, and 'e was already
suffocated ? ' Oh, my dear, dear ! ' I mutters
quite dazy like, * Lord, lay not this sin to my
charge. Bad as 'e is, if John Coker is not, whither
shall I go ? ' And I rushes and opes the door,
and throws everythin' wide — (sakes, that do
smell, does sulphuric. I don't believe 'twill
ever properly leave the reeds again) — and it
'adn't done no morsel o' good, for John 'ad never
been near the place, or if 'e 'ad I suppose 'e
reckonised 'is natural element in the smell and
popped off. O' course, if 'e 'ad chanced with an
overdose inside 'twould ha' been a good riddance,
but I wouldn't ha' liked to ha' been the ridderer.
Moreover, I'd forgot me canary bird, Rebekah,
same as me cat, and the pore thing lay as dead as a
sausage, 'ands up.

LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE 83

" Another day I took and dressed up a figure
in some o' me ole' clothes, and set it in a chair
by the fire, back to the winder, and went out to tea.
As I come back, who should I meet by all that
was unlucky, but Coker 'isself. He looked at me
scared-like, and 'e say, ' Louisa ! it ain't ever you ?
Why, I see you not ten minutes back settin' in

your chair by the fire. Oh! Ah! I see ' * Now

then, out o' my way/ I says, ' you'm doity.
'Ow can I be at one and the same time 'ere and
there ? ' ' We'll soon see who be right,' 'e says,
and starts off to run back 'ere to get a peep again.
It wouldn't never ha' done to let 'im see the trick,
or I couldn't ha' played it again impunitively.
So I picks up me skirt and I triddles along through
the mud as best I may just be'ind 'im, prayin'
as I went, and I was answered. 'E went a thought
faster on 'is wheels nor what I could, but the Lord
was on my side, what don't take no pleasure in
any man's legs, least not in John Coker 's, for 'e
slips up not fifty paces short o' Fuchsia Cottage,
and sprains 'is ankil most awkward. 'E were
squiffy, you know, sir. Oh, yes, 'e were entirely
squiffed that day, was John.

" One time I gives a chap sixpence to keep the
place against 'im whiles I went out, but all along
of 'avin' to turn back 'cause o' the snow half-way
— that was one more deposition o' Providence —

84 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

I found Coker 'ad give the vermin another shillin'
to clear out. ' I don't mind spendin' money on
you, Louisa,' he say, ' we was made to spend and
be spent on one another, comfortin' and whole-
some— Knibb and Coker — Coker Knibb, see ? '
' I sees a lunattic,' I says, and passed indoors.

" He come to me only a week back and say,
' I got to quit. Governor wants the cottage.
I be in a bunker, so I come for Louie Niblick to
get me out ' — ('tis a loose way o' talkin' 'e picked
up when 'e was used to cadger on the linnies,
sir) — ' but if she don't, I ain't goin' to give up the
match yet. I got two strokes in 'and still/
'e say. So I be expectin' some new game any
hour, and me laid by and enable to meet 'im
square."

" All this is very sad, as well as very bad, for
you, Mrs. Knibb," said I. " But now, about that
will — was it ever proved ? "

" No need whatever, sir, for I read it meself."

" In my opinion it isn't worth the paper it is
written on. It is vexatious and ridiculous, and I
believe no Court would uphold it. But however
that may be, I am going to see Mr. John Coker
for myself," and I rose to go.

" Now don't you go nigh 'im, I do beseech
you, sir. 'E isn't fit. You'll catch something, I
don't doubt. He won't do you a mischief. 'E

LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE 85

barks loud, but 'asn't the attack of a dung-fly.
A ignorant coward is Coker, what don't know
enough to scratch the right place what 'itches."

Bluff was the line of action upon which I
determined, as I knocked upon the door of the
tumble-down shed — you could not call it a
cottage — occupied by John Coker. That he was
at home I knew, so upon receiving no answer I
entered uninvited. There he sat upon an upturned
box, drinking tea out of a tin mug, and looking
about as evil as I had expected. His face was
covered with hair which appeared to be infested
with cocoons. Dirt and squalor prevailed on
all sides.

" I have been talking to Mrs. Knibb," I
began.

" Miss Louisa Knibb, and damn your manners,"
he interrupted vehemently.

" And she tells me," I continued, taking no
notice of the interruption, " that her father's will
is in your keeping, in which of course she is
mistaken. But we must excuse her, as she is so
ill. The property, she told me, passes to you
at her death, but there again she must be in
error "

Without a word he disappeared up the rickety
stairs, and as quickly came down with a document
in his hand.

86 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" Spread it open upon the table. I promise not
to touch it," I said.

" You'd better try it on," was his rejoinder,
unfolding it, but keeping a filthy paw guarding
it top and bottom.

The will was certainly in the terms given me
by Mrs. Knibb, and the attestation clause seemed
in perfect order. So I was forced to chance it,
and lead boldly. Taking out a pocket lens I
examined the signatures at the foot with great
care, and then, looking him straight in the face,
said coolly :

" That signature is not Amos Knibb Js ! "

When I said this he started back, and opened
his mouth.

" Now stand quite still, please," I went on,
and producing from my pocket a small electric
torch I pointed it at him.

" What's your little game now, yer 'oliness ? "
he cried in a quaver.

" Only one moment, but quite still," I replied,
switching on the light. " I want a photograph
of you for the newspapers — John Coker, the
Will-forger."

Like an over-ripe mushroom he sank in a
putrid heap upon the box, and then, seizing the
paper, fled from the hovel down the road. He
has never been seen from that day to this.

LOUISA KNIBB'S HERITAGE 87

I went back to Fuchsia Cottage and told Louisa
Knibb what had happened. When once my read-
ing of her riddle was thoroughly grasped, she
threw up her hands in horror, and exclaimed,
" Of all the gilded Herods, John Coker, you'm
the wormiest ! "

CHAPTER VII

A VILLAGE WEDDING

' APPY ! The owner of this sobriquet must
-£A* be by far the most dolorous, woebegone-
looking individual in the county. Market days
excepted, I never meet him divorced from a
steaming manure cart, with his clothes in keeping,
and a short, black cutty pipe hanging in the corner
of his mouth.

I wonder how many of his acquaintances are
aware that his name is Harold Sparks ? Yet for
the very reason that Dame Nature has been so
bitterly ungracious, no name fits him by its
apparent unfitness but 'Appy. He is a thick-set,
awkward, heavy-limbed lout of twenty-nine, with
no attempt at control over limb or feature. His
face is that of a bulldog, flat as a brewer's dray,
with a badly broken nose, green uncertain eyes,
which never look folks in the face, and a heavily
under-hung, massive lower jaw and a portentous
chin. His head is thatched with a shock of
ungovernable coarse red hair, which hangs down
in front, and even protrudes through the broken

88

A VILLAGE WEDDING 89

crown of a shapeless straw hat, crammed down
over his head and resting on his ears. An
immense mouth much drooped at the corners
finishes the picture. His voice is sepulchral,
slow, deliberate, and his vocabulary very strictly
limited. Doubtless he has many virtues as yet
unrevealed, but at least I know that 'Appy,
after the fashion of the day, has specialised in one
thing, and in Manure he is head and shoulders
above his compeers.

:' I know wot's wot, and wot I donow o' yard
dung ain't worth a sniff. Pass me an 'andful and
I'll price it for yer 'ere and now per load," he
once said to me, as he held out his bare hand for
a sample.

I have never yet, even under the greatest stress,
seen 'Appy smile. He is often moved, no doubt,
but then you must be initiated into the symptoms
of his emotions to be in a position to interpret
them. His appreciation of comedy is shown by
violently rubbing his chin with his thumb, and
of tragedy by pulling upon the lobe of his right
ear.

When I met 'Appy some time ago he was
plying his usual trade, so getting to windward
of the cart I hailed him :

" Well, 'Appy, any news ? "

He called upon his horse to stand.

90 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" In a sense, sir, yes, and you'm just the gentle-
man I'm wantin' for five minutes."

" Come, then, now's your chance. What can
I do for you ? "

" 'Tis just your opinion I be wantin'. I be
thinkin' o' makin' a little change."

" Are you going to be married, or grow a
beard, or what ? "

" No fear o' them tangles for I ! No, sir, 'tis
the confection-ary trade."

" God bless my soul " The words slipped

out before I could check them, so rude was the
shock.

" Ah ! I see you 'ave objections. Now, what's
agin it ? There be a good lill' openin', I unner-
stand, down town."

I searched desperately for obstacles. The
sweetmeats must be saved !

" Well, 'Appy," I replied, after a pause,
" you see, the price of sugar is rising fast,
by leaps and bounds indeed, wages are high,
and then there are paper bags, and string, and

so on."

* That's enough, sir — don't say no more — I
thought as 'ow you must know. These be the
lill' things they don't tell we."

But he looked so exceedingly miserable
that, hastening to change the subject, I said,

A VILLAGE WEDDING 91

" We are going to get a change of weather, I
believe."

" No," he answered emphatically, after scanning
the sky ; " no, we ain't, beggin' your parding,
we are not ! Not on a Friday, leastways."

" Not on a Friday ! What do you mean by
that, JAppy ? "

" 'Ave you never noticed, sir, all the years you've
lived, too, as we never gets a change o' weather
on a Friday ? Ah ! I see you ain t. Well, you'm
learnin'. Tis as true as we stand 'ere. You
can't tell I o' one change o' weather as 'ave took
place on a Friday, now can you ? "

At a moment's notice this was a stumper.

" No, I see you can't," he continued tri-
umphantly. " 'Tis no morsel o' use for you to
try."

" Perhaps not," I replied, much amused,
" but I noticed that my glass "

" Glasses, glasses, look to that now," and,
warming up to his subject, in which he evidently
felt himself immeasurably my superior, he con-
tinued, " that's just where you gentlemen gets
took in : terrible 'tis." And his pity and disgust
so overcame him that he was forced to expectorate
heavily. " Terrible ! Glasses ! Why, look at
the price o' medicine bottles ! "

With which cryptic remark, looking if possible

92 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

sadder than ever, he whipped up his horse, and in
a halo of steam went on his way — and went
unanswered.

What did he mean ? The Friday business
was, of course, pure superstition. But what was
the fallacy of gentlemen's weather glasses ? As
the cottagers' form of barometer, from time im-
memorial, has consisted of an ordinary medicine
bottle inverted in a tumbler half filled with
water (the changes of pressure being indicated
by the rise or fall of the water in the bottle), I
have thought since that the modern cheapening
of glass must, for 'Appy, have rendered all
such phenomena untrustworthy. And if that
was so, how much more fallible the barometers
of the gentry must be ! There is no fathom-
ing these simple folk — but how charming they
are !

I hardly know why, but for some reason I had
always regarded 'Appy in the light of a confirmed
bachelor. It was, therefore, with no little interest
that I listened a month ago to his banns being
read out in the village church, and three weeks
later the bucolic maiden, Sarah Jane Winslow,
who had found in him an eligible parti, asked me
to conduct the service, the Rector being absent
on his holiday.

I readily consented, and sending them a small

A VILLAGE WEDDING 93

wedding gift was, in turn, invited to come and
drink their health after the ceremony. It was very
pretty of them and I gladly accepted.

Punctually at the appointed hour I found myself
confronted at the chancel step by Ben Brindle, the
parish clerk, and the wedding party. The bride-
groom was habited in a suit of mustard-coloured
serge, and wore a blue and white spotted tie.
His straw hat, placed during the service upon the
eagle's head of the lectern for safety, had streamers
of red, white, and blue ribbon, and four large
asters in a glass tube were fixed in his buttonhole.
The bride wore a petunia-coloured skirt, a white
blouse, the brightest of yellow straw hats gar-
landed with cherries and an immense blue
ostrich plume, while a heavy paste buckle at her
bosom represented two hearts entwined. The
best man, Fred Galloper, was correctly attired
in lavender-coloured trousers, black broadcloth
coat and vest, a bright scarlet tie with a horse-
shoe pin, and a buttonhole of a single yellow
dahlia. The two bridesmaids, sisters of the bride,
aged about sixteen and eighteen years respectively,
were dressed alike in sky-blue skirts, salmon-pink
blouses, white straw hats wreathed with con-
volvuluses, on which brass butterflies sought for
honey, white cotton gloves, and bouquets com-
posed of scarlet geraniums, crimson dahlias, and

94 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

variegated China asters, tied up as tightly as a
lettuce.

All went well until the betrothal came on. The
bridegroom got through this part creditably,
but with the unfortunate bride it was another
story. Her nerves had entirely forsaken her,
and, seeing this, I said quietly, " Now, try to
repeat these words after me — * I, Sarah Jane ' " —
and got no answer. Having paused for a moment,
I made a second attempt — " I, Sarah Jane,"
which was equally abortive, for she still trembled
like a leaf, and was entirely beyond articulation.
The best man here whispered hoarsely to the
bridegroom :

" Got any salts ? "

" Only Epsoms, and they'm in the cow-
barton," said 'Appy.

Turning to the bridesmaids, the best man tried
again :

" 'Tis the fumes of they buckets, likely !
'Old 'em be'ind yer. JEr mother was a strong
woman, too."

" 'Ush, 'ush ! Talking is confined by the
parson and principals," said Ben Brindle.

After a long pause I made another attempt.

" Now, take plenty of time, and do not get
flurried. Just repeat softly after me these words :
' I, Sarah Jane ' " — and at the same moment

A VILLAGE WEDDING 95

Harold, by way of added encouragement, gave
the poor thing a frightful dig in the ribs
with his thumb, saying loudly, " Now come,
Jane, pull yerself together — be a man ! " And
these combined efforts being instantly crowned
with success, Jane came up to the scratch
manfully.

After the ceremony I elicited such information
regarding the bride as the register required and
turned to the husband.

" What is your age ? "

He, in turn, addressing his wife, demanded :

" 'Ow old be I, Jane ? "

" I don't know. 'Ow old be you ? "

" That's my question to you," he replied,
eyeing her with some disfavour. " 'Tis no answer
to repeat it. I don't know, sir. Say twenty-nine —
'tis near enough."

1 What is your occupation ? "

He referred again to his wife.

" What is it, Jane ? "

" I don't know, 'Appy. What is it ? "

' There, look to that ! " said Harold, glaring
at each of us in turn. " Well, put down carter,
sir — 'twill serve."

" And your father's name ? "

" What did they call 'im, Jane ? "

" I never see 'im. What were 'is name ? "

96 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" Well, I 'ad a father, for sure ! "

" We will take that for granted, but can't you
remember his name ? " I asked.

This was too great a call upon his brain, and in
his exasperation he pushed his face close to Jane's
and said truculently :

" Look 'ere, my girl, who said 'twould be all
plain sailin' ? These be the one or two questions
you should ha' looked up afore you come, yer
know. For a 'elpmeet you'm begun nice and
early, ain't yer ? The gentleman took and warned
yer back end o' the service, not to fall into none
o' these mazey-mesmerisms — 'cause I 'eard 'im !
Six months o' this, and we shan't know nothin'
atween us 'cept the bowels of a lunattic 'sylum.
You'll please to excuse 'er, sir," he added as he
turned to me, " I've took a step in the dark,
seemingly ! "

It was all nicely adjusted, however, before we
parted ; and they left the church the best of
friends once more.

The subsequent levee was held in their own
cottage, the front door of which would only
partially open, owing to the floor of the bedroom
above having sunk. Besides the company already
referred to, there were also the four bell-ringers,
for whom accommodation was found in the larder
adjoining, the door of which was left open.

A VILLAGE WEDDING 97

I made them a short speech, wishing the pair
every happiness and prosperity in their married
life, and proposed their joint health in a glass of
port.

It was with considerable difficulty that 'Appy,
still smothered with confetti, was got upon his
feet to respond. What eventually roused him was
an overt allusion to his " nervites," i.e. a possible
infection from the bride's complaint which
had so touched his pride during the Marriage
Service. At last he was up, and made a noble
effort : —

" Friends all . . ." (sticking his clay pipe, still
alight, through the ribbon round his hat) " 'tis a
beautifule day . . . I'm thankin' 'im . . . you'm
grateful-like. . . . We'm all pleased then as the
gentleman what done the service done us the
service as 'e done . . . 'tis only right and meet
and that. . . . I'm drinkin' 'is 'ealth, and 'tis
plain it ain't a good 'un." The toast of my health
was drunk with acclamation. " 'E've tied we
in a knot — so say Master Brindle — not but what
a knot, what's not the knot what we lot got "
(uproarious applause), " well, ours is no slipper
knot then, and if it were I ain't lettin' 'er slip."
(" Hear, hear " and cries of " keep tight hold ! "
" start fair and square ! ") " Tis a beautifule day
. . . 'ottest August what ever I knowed . . .

98 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

golly ! W I sweated afore we come out o' that
church. ... I'm not forgettin' our weddin'-
day . . . don't come above once or twice in a life-
time. . . . I'm drinkin' 'er 'ealth ! "

And " The Wedding Day " was drunk by the
company.

'Appy looked about him and went on.

" 'Tis a nice lill' 'ouse . . . lays lew and that
. . . only fault's the rent . . . up to yet the garden
isn't talkin' much above a whisper. . . . I'll
mend 'er with a pig and that. ... So far as
Jane goes, you'm mindin' she when 'er lived along
of 'er father Jack Winslow . . . what was shepherd
to Farmer Grant . . . what lived up to Beetham
downs . . . what 'ad the foot-rot in 'is tegs last
fall . . . 'andy wench . . » lissome wi' the darnin'
and that . . . and no tongue-whettin' belongin'
to she . . . 'tis a weighty matter. I'm drinkin'
'er 'ealth."

His toast, " The Missus " was drunk enthusi-
astically.

" 'Tis a beautifule day . . . wi' signs of a
change ... my blasted corns . . ." (a voice —
" 'tis the rice likely.")

" What about the Best Man, 'Appy ? " asked
Brindle.

" Ah ! now Fred Galloper done 'is bit well
. . . versed in 'is parts is Fred ... the best man

A VILLAGE WEDDING 99

'e is . . . better nor any best-man better man nor
I can't better." (applause) " I'm drinkin' 'is
'ealth."

The toast of " The Best Man " was drunk, and
Galloper suggested " The Bridesmaids."

" Them bridlemaids . . . they ain't waitin'
long for their men, neither, if I know what's what
. . . them dresses was ordered for a purpose, if
I'm a cricket. ... I doubt I got the pick of 'em
in Jane, but others is sure to come pickin' presently
. . . and Daisy and Vi'let is worth watchin'. . . .
That aren't a per'mant swellin' on Vi'let's cheek
. . . 'tis a aniseed bull's eye what I give 'er ;
I'm drinkin' their 'ealth. . . . And there sets
Master Brindle now . . . 'e knows what 'e'm
doin', I don't need to be tellin' yer, eye of a
'awk, nothin' isn't escapin' Ben, ' from a flea
to a flood ' as the sayin' is. None can't dig a
more comfortabler grave nor Brindle. 'Ere
to-day and gone to-morrow : I'm drinkin' 'is
'ealth."

Then there was a suggestion from Daisy.

" The Ringers, 'Appy ! "

" Ah ! 'twas a right good peal as you pulled
on them old bells, worthy of a couple same as
me and Jane. Tenor was a thought be'ind, time
and again : wants re-'angin' or some 'at, I doubt.
I'm drinkin' yer 'ealth. Friends all ... 'tis

ioo SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

a beautifule day. ... I sweats — I done," and
amid tumultuous applause 'Appy resumed his
seat.

" A modelled speech," whispered Fred Gal-
loper into my ear as I took my leave.

CHAPTER VIII

THE NESTLING SWALLOWS

FOUR days ago I imperilled as many pre-
cious lives in a like number of seconds.
As usual, several pairs of swallows have taken
possession of the roof of my boat-house for their
nests ; and in pushing out my punt I caught the
end of my pole in one of them, which came down
with a splash into the water ; three of the young,
not a week hatched, being thrown into the river.
It took me but a second to secure the shell and
nest with one baby yet within it, floating like
Moses ; and little more to rescue his three ship-
wrecked brethren, dry them carefully in a hand-
kerchief, and set them in the sun. But the cries
of the distracted parents for help brought a
veritable throng of their friends and neigh-
bours, until the boat-house hummed with wings
and rang with their deafening chorus, " Careless,
careless ! "

By climbing upon the tie-beams I could easily
reach the roof above, and with some string I
firmly reattached the shell in its former position

101

102 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

against a joist ; and in one more journey I re-
placed the entire brood in their nursery.

I have just paid them a professional visit, and
am greatly relieved to be able to report all doing
well, none, apparently, being any the worse.
In three months' time these tender mites will
be facing their long migration to Africa. How
many will reach it ? How many will return here
next spring ? In the strife how many, deceived
it may be by the glamour of a lighthouse, will
stun themselves and fall a prey to the cold hungry
waves beneath ? How many will succumb to the
cold, and with numbed wings fall behind in life's
race for safety, and give up in sheer disappoint-
ment ? Yet perchance this late brood may find
rest and breathing space in a ship's rigging, and,
once more invigorated, make a final effort with
success.

My path lay across the churchyard. The
shadows of the mounds and moss-grown head-
stones were throwing loving arms about each
other in the sunset glow, as in blest communion
and peaceful memory. But on the far side of
them there stood a solitary living figure close
against the wall dividing the churchyard from the
manor house, and in it I recognised Jim Webb.
I knew him and old Martha, his other half, very
well. Both are on the shady side of eighty, and

THE NESTLING SWALLOWS 103

live in a most picturesque thatched cottage,
whose garden, always bright with flowers, faces
the high-road a-top of yonder hill. Oftentimes I
have a " tell " with Martha of a summer's evening,
as she sits in her doorway a-patching of Jim's
breeches: many 's the time her fading eyesight
makes her beckon to me as I pass and beg me to
' lend her a hand and threadle her a needle, else
Jim must be left in holes for certain " : I always
leave her a full dozen, all ready in her cushion,
in reserve. A simple, faithful, God-fearing and
lovable couple are these. Jim, indeed, is a
picture of an old man, with white locks, blue
eyes, and a face lined and seamed with age and
exposure, and the joys and sorrows of fourscore
years.

And here he stood in the fading light, leaning
heavily upon his stick, a long smock reaching to
his knees, and an old felt hat, which once was
mine, crammed down upon his head. He was
staring at the wall in front of him quite lost
in thought.

' What is it, Jim ? " I asked, laying a gentle
hand upon his shoulder.

" Dear, dear ! you took me unbeknown, sir.
I were havin' a think with meself. You'm seein'
that writin' there ? " indicating with his stick a
hieroglyphic, made by himself, since Jim can

io4 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

neither read nor write, rudely scratched upon a
block of Ham-hill stone built into the wall of
the manor stables which just here abut upon the
churchyard. " Well, that be my mark, sir :
and in case our parson 'e forgets, or we should
'ave another change afore my own turn comes, I'd
like for you just to be knowin' where my bed does
lie. Tis to be just there below that writin' o'
mine, twixt this boundary ditch, see you, and that
first mound."

" I promise to remember and I will see that it
is kept for you so far as I can, Jim. Would you
like to tell me why you are anxious it should
be just here ? "

" I will, sir, though you may smile. Years
agone old Sir George's charger, ' Crusader ' 'is
name was, what I took care of years and years,
fell into an old well and so 'ad to be shot : I were
mortal fond of 'im, and unbeknown to any others,
me and the two stable lads took and buried 'im
one night just 'ere 'ard by the ditch. Many's
the time I've slept in 'is stall when 'e seemed
down'earted : I done all I could for 'im, and I'd
like to lay near 'un when I goes. A Christian
'orse 'e was, if ever there 'as been one, and 'tis
but the fringe of God's acre is this ditch, when all
be said and done."

" I see, Jim," I replied, touched by the old

THE NESTLING SWALLOWS 105

man's real devotion to his dead friend. " I quite
understand and it shall not be forgotten."

" You may think it strange, sir, but there it
is : and if, as you say, you understand, there's
another reason, too. I'd like to be a-tellinj you
—not another soul though — for maybe you'd be
understandin' this 'un, too. Do yer see this 'ere
first mound ? That's Missy Ruth, sir, Heaven
keep 'er. You'd not be a-knowin' o' Miss Ruth ;
no, 'tis years agone, fifty and more, parson's
HIP mite she was ! One late summer's evenin',
just the like o' this one then, I was for 'ome, and
found 'er busy wi' a trowel just over there agin
the pales : that busy she was that 'er never
noticed I, and I stood and watchit of 'er for some
time ; with the sun-sinkin' light on 'er 'ead o'
gold 'air, and 'er pinney — a lill' blue thing it was
wi' no sleeves to it — and bare feet that pink and
dainty, a vision she was, ah ! that she was !
When she see me a-leanin' agin the rails 'er
flushes up and 'er comes across, and lookin' at
me very solemn in the eye 'er says : * Webb, you
promise not to tell : you promise now,' and she
patted of me 'and — I can feel it now. ' No,' I
says, ' I ain't for tellin', Missy, I ain't got nothin'
to tell as I knows on.' ' Then come,' she say,
and leads me over to the pales : and pickin' up
a draggled bit of goods from off the grass, 'er

106 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

says, ' This is my dolly Miriam : you don't
know Miriam, but she's dead now so I won't
'troduce you. She was none too careful, and got
in the way of Nanny's cuttin'-out scissors,
through goin' to sleep upon the nursery table :
and now she's all run out, and the white mice
'ave 'ad the bran. 'Er eyes are gone and she
can't stand : and Nanny says she must 'ave
played real ducks and dukes with a delicate
restitution — I don't know what she means, but
I've told God about it all. And now I'm going
... to bury her,' and wi' that 'er started sobbin'
up agin my dirty coat. I was mortal fond o'
little Missy Ruth, and 'twas more nor any man
could bear : you see, sir, I never 'ad chick nor
child o' me own — but eh ! I loved that wee one,
that I did.

!< So I sets me down upon a mound, and * Come,
'old up,' I says, ' she ain't done for yet by a good
bit,' and we examine into the bundle o' rags quite
doctor fashion : and I points out the weaker
places and 'ow we should perceed, and then I
says : * Run, little lady, and get I on the quiet a
needle and a length o' twist,' and off 'er capers
like a rabbit. With an 'andful of sweet 'ay, pulled
out from Squire Ducat's rick just 'andy, I 'ad
a-filled out Miriam's legs and all or ever Missy
Ruth got back : and then we tied two black

THE NESTLING SWALLOWS 107

buttons off my leggin's in the eye-'oles — when I
got me 'ome Martha missed them buttons sooner
nor I could shut the wicket gate up to our cottage,
so she did — and we sewed together that long
scissor-slit in 'er poor belly, oh ! a terrible piece
o' work it was. * 'Tis quite a resurrection,
Missy,' I says 'oldin' it up by the 'air when we'd
a-done ; and 'er cried again a drop or two for
joy, and 'er throws 'er lilP dimply arms around
my dirty neck, and 'er kisses me like . . . like
..." but poor Jim's voice failing him entirely
for the moment, he had to leave the simile
unsaid.

" ' And Webb,' she say, as I was shoulderin'
me basketful o' tools, * if ever you runs out, or
plays the dukes and drakes with a weakly resti-
tution, and can't stand, and want new eyes, you
come to me and I will tell God all about it as I
did for Miriam.' "

" And wi' that 'er skips off like a deer.

" In less nor three months she was laid 'ere
'er dear self : only six she was : I digged 'er
grave meself, and I sweared over it to give up
goin' to the Public, and I made this 'ere bit o'
writin' on the wall to mind me of it : and afore
God, Missy, I 'ave kept it ! And now me eyes,
they isn't what they was, sir — I tires wi' long
standin' — must be near my time to run out too,

io8 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

and I'd like me to lay 'andy to 'er so as we can
go and ask Him both together like, when 'E
comes to 'ear about it all."

Yes, it may be that some of the nestling swallows
will not fly far !

CHAPTER IX
'RIA DANCES

THOUGH few persons appear to know it,
'Ria's name is Maria Jennings. She is a
diminutive widow of about forty-five, with a
" splodgy " complexion, light blue eyes, usually
closed during conversation, with an inexhaustible
tear in the corner of each ; while a perennial
smile exhibits a row of gapped, irregular, worn-
out teeth. I fancy 'Ria is turning grey, but when
all her hair is made the most of and secured with
a bootlace, the knot scarcely exceeds the size of
a chestnut. However, during all these years I
have known her I have seldom seen 'Ria out of a
sun-bonnet, even on Sundays. Her gait is
shuffling and uncertain : she leans forward, turns
her toes in, and is undoubtedly bandy-legged ;
while her long arms, out of all proportion to her
body, hang listlessly at her sides. She is endowed
with an unceasing flow of language, and if you are
credulous enough you will be touched by hearing
her excuse the many faults of Tommy, her only
child, on the plea of his being " that simple."

109

no SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Her voice grates and is very unpleasing, for it
squeaks like a file which has lost its bite.

" Your son is not looking well, 'Ria," I observed
to her one day.

" No, sir, 'e bin to the doctor, and 'e say 'tis
the weather inside 'im."

" Oh ! Rubbish ! This lovely weather should
do him good."

" Well, that's what 'e say : 'e 'ave a regular
desease of the 'rometer."

" Of the what?"

'Tis 'is throat, sir. Doctor 'e give it a name
what I can't exactly say : my boy says it were the
name of a gentleman in the Bible (terrible scholard
'e is for the Scriptures), but I knows it 'ad to do
with the weather and the 'rometer ; and 'e say
Tom must 'ave a tiddily operation for it."

After a moment's thought I had an inspiration
— Aneroid !

" Was the word adenoids ? "

' That's the very spit of it, sir — but I for-
gotten it."

" Very well, 'Ria, I will see the doctor about it
as soon as I can. But meanwhile I want to speak
to you very seriously upon another subject.
Several of the villagers have complained to me that
two nights ago you were disgustingly drunk, and
made a fearful scene in the village, swearing and

'RIA DANCES in

shouting for hours so that they could get little
sleep. Now, if this happens again, remember
that you will have to give up your cottage and
leave the village. I will not have it."

" Now, sir, let me in just a minute : believe
me, they'm onreliable. I ain't goin' to tell you a
lie about it, for / got a character to lose if they
ain't, and I'm tellin' you the exact. I took me
one glass oj stout at the * White 'Art ' — one glass
only — oh ! ah ! and a sippity-sip out o' George
Pether's pint, so I did — and that were all I 'ad
that 'ole night ! No — I'm wrong though, I 'ad
two tablespoons o' spring water for to swaller a
pill down, so I did : them was the only drops o'
drink I went near that live-long night. No !
—wrong again I be — I mind now as I took some
'oney along o' me tea, and three cups o' tea, too,
at six o' the clock : o' course I did. Not another
drop o' liquid touched my lips that night, so
strike me ! onless it were the dew o' Heaven
settled on me lips and trickled in unbeknown,
for which o' course, we'm not respondin'. And
as for the swearin' business — I stood me on the
pitchin's o' the * White 'Art.' and the evenin'
were that beautiful, I 'ad to let one afore I took
me 'ome : but 'twas but one. I'm not denyin'
it were a good one, 'cause my boy told me on it
next mornin' ; and like enough it warmed up a

ii2 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

few o' the folks within reach, and made 'em feel
the sheets was 'eavy on 'em : but 'twas but one
as I let. I'd like to be 'troduced to the man or
woman in this 'ere village as 'ave never let one
theirselves. They'm all breakin' the last com-
mandment in tellin' you about it, 'cause mine was
one as they knows they can't beat, and that's the
'ole truth o' the matter : they wishes they could
find its match, I don't doubt, but they got no
gizzards ! Now, sir, I do 'ope as you'm bearin'
me no ill will for what I never done — 'tis 'ard as
ignorant folk should be wishful to do us an injury."

" I understand, then, that yours was such a
good one that it took you several hours of the
night to get through with, eh ? "

" My watch ain't got no arms, sir, and 'is face
isn't nothin' to speak of, so 'twould a' been
difficult for I to be timin' it, yer see : but from
what my pore boy — 'e be that simple — telled me
of it next mornin', it must ha' took several breathes
I'm thinkin'."

She is an incorrigible rogue, and further
argument would have proved useless : moreover,
she and her son are really the village idiots.
Everyone feels their bump of pity begin to
operate when meeting with, or even thinking of,
these unfortunates : but they are apt to become
village nuisances, and then are an even greater

'RIA DANCES 113

problem. So it was with JRia : her mental endow-
ments being few, she traded upon the fact and
deliberately set herself to compensate her lack of
wits by calculated knavery. If a fool, her cunning
made it nigh impossible to suffer her gladly.

Many complaints had already reached my
ears. They related to the systematic robbery
of hen-roosts belonging to a farm handy to her
cottage : her making free with game in the coverts
under pretence of blackberrying ; the firing of
three haystacks under more than suspicious
circumstances : the mysterious disappearance
of my own coal and coke, and the ominous
shrinkage of others' turf -stacks : I say nothing
of her being finally caught red-handed snaring
my rabbits, under cover of gathering sticks on
the estate.

By August things had reached a pass which
admitted of no further delay : someone had to
impress on 'Ria the urgent need of immediate
reform, on pain of the charity, upon which she
largely subsisted, being finally withdrawn.

It was the day of our village Flower Show, a
great annual event, but not an unmixed blessing,
and it was there that the woes of many were poured
into my ears for the hundredth time in regard to
'Ria and her misdemeanours.

ii4 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

As I went the round of the tent ruminating on
these things, it was as easy to pick out the prize-
winners by their laughing faces as it was to
detect the unsuccessful competitors by their
comments and answers to sympathising pals,
whose efforts to cheer them by dilating on the
super-excellence of the prize exhibits only added
fuel to the fire of disappointment. Thus :

Unsuccessful : " My kidney be-ans only 'ighly
commended ! Look to that now ! Call that
judging : I never come 'ere to be commended,
and I won't be : there'll be some'at said about
this, mark my words. Talk of kidney be-ans ! "

His pal : " Them carrots yonder ain't so
bloody "

Unsuccessful : " Oh ! bain't 'em ? I knows
they be. But my kidney be-ans "

His pal, reading the label : " My ! There's
reddishers ! Tom TramwelPs, too."

Unsuccessful : " Tom never growed they, I
warrant : 'is garden be a bed o' wireworm :
pinched 'em somewhere — my plot like enough.
Now my kidneys "

His pal : " What price they tomarters o' Bill's
yonder ? Show an eye 'ere, man "

Unsuccessful : " I'm showin' two, blast yer !
'Tis only to be expected as a man with a toomer
on 'is neck same as Bill 'as should grow any thin'
o' the same nature. Look to 'is gooseberries—

'RIA DANCES 115

'tis all bush fruit and nothin' else as 'e can grow ;
kidney be-ans like mine "

His pal : " Garn ! Tomarters ain't bush
fruit ! "

Unsuccessful : " Oh ! ain't they ? What is'm
then ? Toobers ? Roots ? Forest trees ? I'm
learnin' a bit o' gardenin' seemin'ly : ' 'ighly
commended ' for kidney be-ans "

His pal : :< Strike me ! There's onions for
yer ! "

Unsuccessful : " Nasty stinkin' things, too :
only fit for ear-aches and 'arvest festivals. Now
kidney be-ans "

His pal : " Sight for blind eyes is 'Liza's
bucket o' wild flowers over there : First Prize is
right."

Unsuccessful : " Mostly overblowed ! But 'ow
should a woman know to pick anything else ? As
well put 'er to judge kidney be-ans "

His pal : " 'Ave yer seen Jim Morkell's broad
Windsors ? "

Unsuccessful : " 'Ave I not ! Coarse and stringy

—poor eatin'. I reckon 'bout as good as Mother

Tritton's scarlet runners, what never climbed 'er

fence, I lay. If they'd looked at my kidney

be-ans ."

But it was generally conceded that if 'Ria had
showed everything she had stolen she might have
taken all the prizes.

n6 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

The flower-show day of hopes and fears, of
joys and sorrows, of successes and of disappoint-
ments, was over, and in the evening I was called
to an outlying hamlet. But poor Mrs. Perrot's
baby was stillborn, and I left the doctor and
nurse attending her. A lovely moon was rising
and I took the short cut through the hanger and
over the stream. After the busy day I found the
woods refreshingly mysterious : man's hoarse
comments were hushed, heaven was so much
nearer.

In a small clearing at the fringe of the wood,
and on the very bank of the burn, an unexpected
and startling sight broke on my view. It was
'Ria in her sun-bonnet ! With strings flying, a
short clay pipe in her mouth, and with skirts held
high, she was dancing a species of minuet :
round and round she spun with clumsy agility.
It was really amazing, and with great caution I got
nearer to seek for an explanation of the phenome-
non. Even as I did so 'Ria, tossing her pipe
aside on the grass, accompanied a slower step
with song. So far as I could catch them the words
ran something after this fashion : —

" A moon-fairy be I, what rides acros't the sky,

And singles round the 'oodland glades o' night-time :
A dainty little thing, in cobwebs do I swing,

To kiss the moon when she be shining bright-time."

'RIA DANCES 117

It was high time to make her aware of my
presence. So stepping into the open I called
gravely : " 'Ria ! " At that very moment a like
inspiration, prompted doubtless by curiosity and
annoyance at such unseemly intrusion, brought
Farmer Transome's billy-goat into view on the
opposite side of the opening : and, catching sight
of him only, and hearing her name called, with
one piercing shriek 'Ria dashed through the
stream and was lost to view.

Picking up her clay pipe I resumed my way
home to bed.

'Ria must be spoken to. That was my waking
thought in the morning. As I approached her
cottage a little before five o'clock, I could see her
through the window sitting over the open hearth
in company with two cats, a Belgian hare, and
three white lop-eared rabbits. She was otherwise
alone. I hailed her through the doorway.

" Good evening, 'Ria."

" Come in and please to take a seat, sir."

I accepted her invitation.

" I want to have a talk with you, 'Ria," I began.

She instantly gave me a keen searching glance,
and compressed her lips in token of a mind quite
made up as to her line of action. But so also was
my own : it was to be a battle.

n8 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" First, let me return you your pipe," I said,
holding it out towards her.

" Not mine, sir ; but 'tis a handy lill' thing
for Tommy," and, taking it, she placed it care-
fully upon the mantel-shelf.

" Not yours ? Why, I saw you put it down upon
the grass when you were dancing in Comesbury
Ring last night."

" I never were out o' me 'ouse after six last
night, sir — very porely I was wi' bad dreams in
my pore 'ead."

" Now, 'Ria, listen to me : are these words
familiar to you ? "

I repeated the refrain of her song.

" A purty little bit that is to be sure, sir, but I
be no scholard for the po-uts, and p'r'aps 'tis as
well, else I might fall into them terrible 'abits
o' writin' books wi' no meanin' " : and catching
the Belgian hare a rare bat on the head for nosing
my boots, she added : "Be off, Sam, do, ex-
pectin' Brussels sprouts on a gentleman's legs.
Grand day at the Flower Show we 'ad yesterday,
sir ; I was "

" Yes, yes, 'Ria : but now listen to me. . . ."

" Grand day it was, but misfortunately I never
couldn't grow no flowers, nor vegetables fit for
the showin' : pore Tommy be that simple : my
garden been overlooked, nothin' don't 'pear to

'RIA DANCES

119

prosper wi' it, nor wi' me. Me and mine been
overlooked altogether. Sure as me rabbits is in
kindle Tommy slides on 'em in the door-way ;
'e be that simple, pore boy : me hens gets egg-
bound : Jack the 'edge-'og is for ever sheddin'
'is birtles ; all me chicks is took wi' the gapes and
me ducklin's biased wi' the straddles. All the
troubles as ever 'appened to pore folks is nothink
to mine."

But having a private bill which I was deter-
mined to bring in, I hardened my heart and
interrupted her.

" I am very sorry for your troubles, but now I
want you to listen to me "

" Pore Tommy 'e always say * Remember
Job's wife,' same as I always tries to be doin'.
But all the evil come o' one thing, which I minded
as I lay abed tormented in me 'ead last night :
I were never churched after Tom was borned !
No, I weren't. Seems cowardly to take and 'ave
it done now — Tom turnin' seven-and-twenty come
Michaelmas, but 'tis worth your while thinkin'
over ; things might alter, likely, if 'twas took
and done."

" We will discuss that later, 'Ria ; just now I
want you to listen to me."

" I know 'twas my pore 'usband's death what
disreminded me of it, 'E was a well-sinker, you

120 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

know, sir, and was to work down to ' Grasslands '
mendin' of a deep well, nigh the bottom : and
Dick Tripper, 'is mate, feelin' a jerk on the tell-
line shouts down : ' Be you in it ? ' and 'e say, ' I
be in it,' so 'e winds up and 'e wasn't in it : so 'e
shouts down, ' Be you there ? J and 'e say, * I be
there ' : so 'e lets down the bucket again and
says presently, ' Be you in it ? J and 'e say, ' I be
in it ' : and 'e winds up 'alf-way and the rope
divides, and down 'e goes again : so 'e slacks for
my man to splice the rope, and 'e shouts down,
' Be you in it ? ' and 'e say, * For evermore,' and
'e winds up and 'e wasn't in it, and that's what 'e
meant. That was the day I was to 'ave been
churched, but in the turmoil 'twas overlooked,
and everything's got overlooked ever since : me
and Tommy conclusive."

" It is all very sad for you, but now listen to
me "

" O' course you can't say as Dick Tripper 'ad
an 'and in it, yet you can't say 'e 'adn't : for 'e
squnted terrible in one eye — t'other was a very
good 'un, 'owever. 'E asked me to take 'im when
my pore man was buried, but I thought better
of it."

' Yes, yes ; now you keep quite quiet, 'Ria,
and just listen to me—

" I'm not against a pair o' odd eyes meself :

'RIA DANCES 121

you can't 'ave everythin' straight in this world,
and eyes is less important nor manners : or lips
for the matter o' that, a top 'un wi' a plaquet 'ole,
and what whistles, I never couldn't abide. I 'ad
another chanst down to Stanley fair the year
after ; a pig-drover what I knowed from a girl,
took and courted of me as I set in the winder-seat
o' the taproom in the ' 'Are and 'Ounds ' : and 'e
say, ' You'm lone-like ? ' ' I ain't then,' I says.
* Don't you pert me,' 'e say : ' your man's gone
and you'm lonely : I'll take yer.' ' Shucks ! ' I
says : * you can drive pigs, but you can't drive
me.' ' Can't I ? ' 'e say, and lets fly at me 'ead
with 'is fust, which went through the winder
be'ind me and cost 'im three and nine, it bein'
spuddled glass so as a body couldn't see into the
back alley through it. If I'd took the biff square,
and not dipped quick, Tom would ha' been a
'orfin. So I bit 'un in the leg and says : ' Pro-
posin' to ladies is expensive,' and left 'im bathin'
'is 'and, and settlin' up wi' the landlord. Now
what be you sayin' to the churchin' question, sir ?
Should it be ? Or should we slip it ? "

:< I think if I was in your place I should slip it,

'Ria. But now you really must listen to me 3

'Tis venturesome in you o' course, but I'll
abide by your decision, and if there be any conse-
quences I 'ope you will take 'em kindly. Nicely

122 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

that 'cap o' dung o' yours be 'eatin' against your
garden pales ! I passed down the land late last
night, in an 'urry to get me 'ome, and it smelled
somethin' beautiful. Don't be takin' no notice
o' that, sir," as ominous thumps on a partition
wall made me look round, " 'tis only Sam goin'
up to bed, 'e sleeps along oj Tom : and by the
same token 'ere is Tommy 'isself come for 'is
tea."

A wicked gleam of triumph lighted her eyes as
she rose :

" If yer must be gettin' 'ome yerself, sir, thank
you kindly for callin', and all your beautifule
words. We must face them consequences to-
gether."

My bill had been talked out.

CHAPTER X

CHURCH-BALLING

" T WONDER if you could explain me the law

-*- o' church-balling, sir ? "

This question came from a man by the name of
Peter Austin, a retired seafarer and now Jack of
many trades, chimney-sweeping included.

My friend Austin rejoices in the complexion
of a mulberry, and is in everything of very free
habit, as the gardeners say. His trunk is globular,
and is supported upon short bowed legs clad in
corduroy trousers of ample skirt which shade
abnormally large feet. He has a clean-shaven,
jolly face, like a moon at the full, and a snub
nose : his head is bald on top, but a struggling
growth of hair still makes the most of itself
below. He never wears a collar, but in its place a
bright-coloured scarf is knotted round his immense
bull neck. One has to be very precise with Peter,
for he gives the impression of being keenly on
the alert to correct every statement, as he holds
one with his piercing grey eyes. Somehow
Austin seems to attract attention, perhaps owing

123

124 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

partly to his voice, which is a very pleasing bass
and rings clear as a bell. He is a great devotee
of the laws of the land.

" I wonder if you could explain me the law of
church-balling, sir ? J!

" It doubtless sounds very ignorant on my part,
Austin, but I am afraid I never even heard of it :
what kind of game is it in connection with ? "

" I thought 'twas a bit o' bluff meself — but it
come about like this, sir. Last Saturday I were
up all night wi' my sick cow, Bess, terrible job
we 'ad too, she being due to calve down in a week.
So my missis and me took and went to church
Sunday evening, 'stead o' morning which is our
usual 'abit : and our seat be in the very shadow
o' the pulpit like. Now it 'appened as John
Moore's son, down to Combes-Stay, limb o'
Satan 'e is, sits next me on me port side in the
pew. As soon as Parson Higginbotham give out 'is
text, and I looks 'er out in me Bible to make sure
she was there — she ain't always — I see the young
radical playin' wi' a gutty-purky face off a cracker
in one hand and a fusee match in t'other. So I
says : ' You light that and I'll strike yer, mind ' ;
and as 'e only put out 'is tongue at me I says
again : * S'elp me I'll clip yer 'ead if you try it
on,' and my missus 'eard me, though 'er eyes was
tight shut so she couldn't see the nipper's pranks.

CHURCH-BALLING 125

" Next thing, being took sleepy, I 'as a doze.
You knows Parson Higginbotham, I don't doubt ?
No ? Well, no matter : Je ain't none too brisk
in the box ; moreover we 'ad a fall out at the
vestry meeting back-along, 'e not being no
scholard at the figures. Any'ow, I lost meself
soon after 'e got going ; and all of a suddink
some 'at burnt I top o' me 'ead, and being a bit
short o' 'air it did burn smartish : and afore I were
fully awake-like, I'd seized me Book what lay
in me lap, a terrible old 'un she is, wi' 'er brass
furniture fore and aft, and I give John Moore's
son a tidy clip o' the 'ead with 'er, saying, * What
did I tell yer ? I'll learn yer to set alight to decent
folk at their prayers,' making sure 'e 'ad a'done
me own 'ead a mischief with 'is fusee : whereas
'e 'ad done no such thing, being asleep same as
me. 'Twere but a drop o' hot grease from the
pulpit candle what was guttering in a draught :
but quite a natural mistake anyone might a made
in them circumstances !

" Any'ow, the boy jumps up and shouts : ' Who
are yer gettin' at, Sooty ? ' and nips down the
church, and out o' reach of a second dose o'
them brass plates. My missus, setting star-
board o' me, waked up same moment, sees me
clip 'im o' the 'ead, and noticin' the gutty-
purky face tumble out of 'is 'and on to the seat

126 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

when 'e flitted, she cries out ' Malchus,' my name
being Peter, you see, sir, throws 'er shawl over
'er 'ead and moans something fearful. You see
she took the gutty-purky face for the nipper's
ear ! We all forgets ourselves in a way o' speak-
ing : parson 'e loses 'is place in 'is book, a thing
not uncommon, 'owever, and 'e knew well
enough it wasn't worth bothering to find again,
so he gives us 'is blessing to show as 'twas all
over for that turn.

" But as I goes out o' the door 'e say to me :
* I'll 'ave you persecuted for church-balling.'
That's 'ow it come in, sir."

Being thus put in possession of the leading
facts, I explained to Peter the offence known as
" Brawling," and its consequences.

" I telled 'im I was sorry," went on Austin,
" and 'ow it all come about : but I met wi' 'im
'alf an hour ago, and 'e says : * John Moore's
son 'as developed the ringed-worm just where
you struck 'im Sunday, Mr. Austin : it all
come o' your church-balling,' 'e say. Now
sir, be brass-plated Bibles catching o' the ringed-
worm ? "

* No, but you should not go to sleep during
the sermon, Austin," I replied.

c That be one moral, no doubt, sir, but whose
fault? I be mortal glad to know 'ow the law

CHURCH-BALLING

127

lies on both counts : but whose fault ? My
cow Bess be barred, of course, she couldn't 'elp
being dry on Sunday and she'll mend that by the
next, but I 'ave my doubts about Parson Higgin-
botham."

CHAPTER XI

BEN BRINDLE DISCOURSES

BEN BRINDLE is our parish clerk and
sexton. Hale and well preserved at three-
score years and ten, Ben is quite a character and
will tell you that he " has seen life in all her
phrases " : consequently he is much reverenced
as an authority on most questions in the village,
being consulted on family histories and gene-
alogies as an infallible authority.

This village luminary is short, squat, and almost
dumpy of stature : his round baby face, very like
that of a marmoset, is framed in side whiskers
with a fringe of beard under the chin, more
white now than black : a pair of the merriest
eyes sparkle from under heavy eyebrows, and
invite one and all to stop and gossip. He has a
good-shaped head, which, as I know well, is full
of memories. Ben is always neat in person and
tidily turned out, and has a cheery word, ready
smile, and kindly act for everybody, which makes
him a general favourite. I hardly know some-
times how we should get along without Brindle.

128

BEN BRINDLE DISCOURSES 129

Ben is a widower and makes his home with his
married daughter, Selina Hobbs, whose husband
works upon the roads.

This afternoon as I watched him cutting the
grass in the churchyard, he took an " easy " to
put an edge upon his scythe, in which operation
the whet-stone slipping, he narrowly escaped a
nasty gash to his hand.

" A narrer shave that, sir," he remarked,
examining his thumb ; but being satisfied that
no harm was done, in his relief he became dis-
cursive.

" Life be full of 'em 'owever," and he took a
draught at the bottle of tea which Frank, his
grandson, had brought him a moment before,
" full of 'em," he repeated, as he wiped his mouth
in his hand : " 'old up your arms over your 'ead,
Franky, that's it ! See anything odd in 'em,
sir ? " he asked, turning to me.

After a minute's examination, the only differ-
ence I could detect was that one appeared as if
it might possibly be the smallest trifle longer than
the other, and I said so.

" You 'ave 'it it, sir, that's one of 'em : now
take and run 'ome to your mother, Frank : yes,
there you 'ave 'it 'is birthright," he continued,
following with his eye the retreating figure of
the lad.

136 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" His what, Ben ? "

" Tis easy explained, sir : his mother Selina
is a vetinarian what eats grass-food like the
animals, and so o' course is took full o' fancies at
times. The night afore Frank was horned, she
'ad mislaid 'er watch and was terrible put about.
c It don't matter,' I says, * 'tis a poor time-
reckoner whatever ' : yet she turned quite rumpsy
about it, and carried on such a piece o' work as
never was, though she never found it till a week
after. I quite expected as Frank would slip into
this world wi' a row o' figures round 'is face, but
'tis a mercy 'e only got the two odd arms as you
see. They do say as 'e'm terrible unpunctual
to school, but 'tisn't 'is fault, as I tells the master,
Selina 's watch being what it was.

' No excuse,' say the schoolmaster.

" ' O' course it ain't,' I says : ' 'tis borned in
'im, part and parcel of 'im then.' Unmarried
man what don't know life, is our schoolmaster.
'Twas a narrer shave for Franky : ' on the very
rim ' as you might say."

Here Ben ruminated for a moment, whilst I
said not a word to distract the current of his
thoughts : presently he went on :

" And yet again I don't know but what the next
one, Minnie, 'ad a narrerer : she was borned twenty-
second day of June, and the same evenin' Selina,

BEN BRINDLE DISCOURSES 131

all 'er vetinarianism notwithstanding were took
wi' a fancy for whatever would you think ? A
fresh 'erring for supper, with a Christmas cracker
to follow. Now they'm both un'andy things to
percure in summer time, and we give it up entirely
'avin' no shops to search through for 'em. But
Minnie's all right so far, and turned seven already.
'Tis a great blessin', for theym full o' possibilities
for the unborned is crackers and 'errings in
June."

In the intervals of his munching a piece of
cake, I also learned the following history from
Brindle.

' See that mound, fourth from the right from
my basket ? Well, that were a close 'ish shave, too.
'Annah Griggs' eldest son worked in a quarry
down to Wishtown — two mile from 'ere all of it.
'E took and got too near a blastin '-charge or
some'at, and was broke right up. Quite a job
they 'ad, I understand, to 'arvest 'im. 'Owever,
they put it all into a corfin, and Parson 'ad just
got to ' earth to earth, ashes to ashes ' — when
Jim 'Ockley run up with a parcel : ' 'old 'ard/ 'e
say, * 'ere's some more.' 'Twas 'is right arm,
hidentified by a dancin' girl tattered on it in red
and blue. * Gleaned it over an 'undred yards
outside the quarry,' Jim went on, catchin' for
'is breath — ' I 'opes it be in time, sir,' 'e say to

132 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

the parson. ' Lay it on the corfin,' says parson,
and went straight on — ' Dust to dust/ 'Twas
touch and go, wasn't it ? "

As the clock was striking six Brindle began to
collect his tools, but his memories of ' close shaves '
were not to be denied even at this late hour.

" I mind when James Worrell's wife were
laid up wi' the newmonica, they took and moved
'er bed down into the kitchen for to keep 'er
warm, and I called to ask 'ow she did one evenin',
and was set down by the fire, and her littlest
nipper Stephen, three years old only, 'e took and
drunk out of a bottle oj stuff what was on the
table. * Oh, Master Brindle/ she cries, ' our
Steve's been and took — Oh, my sakes alive ! '
and she 'ands me up the empty bottle.
" ' Poison,' I says, 'avin' snuffed it.

' Take and empt' 'im, quick,' she say.

' Mustard, prompt, be the only thing to save
'im,' I says.

" ' Ain't got a thimbleful left in the 'ouse,'
she say.

' This will serve,' I says, pickin' up one of
'er dead poultices what lay on the floor : and I
'adn't 'eld it agin 'is face ten seconds, afore 'e
was took vomitin' somethin' alarmin' !

' That was 'sauceful in you, Master Brindle,'
she say.

BEN BRINDLE DISCOURSES 133

" I suppose it were : anyway 'twas close
enough to be almost ' in sight ' as you might say.

" And talkin' o' bottles and that— I don't
suppose you ever knowed Sam Graves, did you,
sir ? No, you wouldn't — 'e went afore your time :
'e lays over against the vestry door out yonder,
'E was used to lend me an 'and a-cuttin' o' this
'ere grass, as 'e always said as 'is name implied as
'e 'ad a right to do. Well, 'is missus sent down 'is
bottle o' tea one evenin', and the lad Jim Blake
what brings it sets it down by the gate. Young
Jim 'ad another bottle wi' 'im, and puts that down
in the shade o' the lime trees and starts a game o'
play. Presently, bein' taken dry, Sam looses 'is
belt and sets 'isself down — a wonderful stout man
was Sam what couldn't set with a belt on — and
turns the bottle bottom up in 'is throat. 'E was
one o' them overflow men what don't drive 'is
liquor by swallowin', but lets it find its own way
down all in a flood : there was such a plenty o'
room in Sam's area, it was a matter o' no con-
cern where it settled.

" * 'Ere, 'old on, Master Graves,' shouts the
nipper Jim, 'alf cryin' 'e was, ' t'other is your
bottle, them be my tadpoles ! '

" Sam kneels up on 'ands and knees, and a
terrible red eye 'e turned on the lad, what scared
'im so that 'e took to 'is lilP 'eels down the 'ill

134 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

'ome wards. Sam spits a drop into 'is 'and,
and there sure enough was a tiddly taddy. Gettin'
up, and droppin' 'is belt in doin' so, 'e said
several words as I won't repeat, and sets off down
the road after the nipper. That was a race and
no error ! I don't know now but what Sam
might a'catched 'im, but 'e blowed 'isself by
talkin' so much as 'e travelled. Any'ow, round
the corner just at the bottom o' the 'ill where the
road do fork, who should 'e meet (and a'most
run over) but the Parson and 'is missus : and
what wi' 'im 'avin' to 'old up 'is breeches, and
want o' breath, and churnin' up what 'e'd a'
swallered, Sam took and done the best thing 'e
could, gives the taddies their freedom in the middle
o' the road.

' They ain't mine, ma'am,' 'e say, touchin'
'is 'at to the missus, ' they be Jim Blake's, all on

'em.'

" 'Twas foolish like, for they was as blind as
moles both Parson and 'is missus.

" ' What are, my man ? ' says Parson. * Ah, it's
Sam Graves. I thought you were cuttin' the
churchyard for me.'

" ' So I be, sir,' 'e say, * but I couldn't do this
'ere there,' which was true in a way o' speakin',
for it were the runnin' what finally done it, yer
see.

BEN BRINDLE DISCOURSES 135

' Very proper, Sam,' says the Parson, ' a
very nice and proper thought : never play
pranks in the churchyard. When you need a
bit of fun or exercise, a game of 'ide-and-seek, or
leap-frog, shall we say . . . yes, yes, a very
reverent and careful thought on your part, Graves :
above all I like to see you trying to bring up
Jim Blake's young notions — oh, a very right and
Christian feeling and example : I like it in you,
Sam, and — and — good-night to you,' and they
tripped in at the parsonage gate, leavin' poor old
Sam mutterin' to 'isself, * 'ide-and-seek ! Leap-
frog ! Bringin' up Jim Blake's young notions '

and a good deal more as perhaps I'd best not
repeat.

:< But it was narrer, sir, that was — on the very
boundaries in several ways."

Just as Ben ended this recital, there passed
along the road on his way home from work, one
Fred Prince, stone breaker and road mender ;
who, catching sight of us, paused to rest his tools
on the churchyard wall.

" Well, Fred, and how is the world treating
you ? " I asked.

" Much as usual, sir, thank ye," was his reply,
touching his hat. But Brindle could not let it
pass at that.

" Much as usual, eh ! Tis a man among

136 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

men Fred is then : 'e's 'ad a bit 'o luck 'as Fred " :
and turning to Prince he added, " speak up for
yourself now, come."

But Fred only smiled as he knocked out the
ashes of his pipe against the wall.

" Well, Prince, I want to congratulate you, but
I must know what it is all about : tell me."

But still I got no answer beyond a vacant
smile.

" Now out with it, Fred, come," urged Ben
again, prodding him with the handle of his scythe :
" don't act silly : you'm sweatin' to tell it, I'll
warrant."

However Fred perspired his only answer was,
" G'arn, Brindle, 'oo are yer gettin' at ? "

In despair, therefore, Ben took up the history
himself.

" 'E's not for tellin', that's sure : yet 'tis a bit
as don't come everyone's way. Tis like this, sir.
You mind 'is brother Bob ? "

" No, I do not remember ever meeting Bob."

" Oh, come, you must know Bob Prince, sir ?
Brother o' Fred's. Bob, what come back from
the Boer-land war, with a 'ole in 'is 'ead and
three toes short on 'is left foot. 'E lived along
o' Fred last eight years — you must know 'im ! "

:' I assure you I do not : what about him ? "

" About 'im, sir ? Ah, well ! It 'appened like

BEN BRINDLE DISCOURSES 137

this, then. Last Sunday, Fred come round to
my place and 'e say, ' Ben, Bob 'ave been and
stepped through the cow-cumber frame, and is
took again : come on, quick.' Now I 'ave seen
Bob in a smart few fits, so I 'urries down along
o' Fred, and we found Jim in a rare takin' down
the garden. Precautionary like, Fred's missus
'ad locked 'im into the occasional next the frames
and the chicken run : but we soon 'ad 'im out
o' there, and pops 'im into 'is bed and sends for
the doctor. When 'e come Bob was a bit laxer,
and the doctor chap 'e say as 'ow 'e'd best be
took to the work'ouse 'firmary, and give us the
paper. Yer see, Bob 'ad lived wi' Fred and 'is
wife, and 'ad eat their victuals years and years,
and it pulled their belly strings a bit tight at
times : we was all sorry for Fred, though we
needn't a been, seem' what 'appened. Off I goes
for a cab, and gets 'im in and drove nine miles
to the 'firmary — me and Fred inside a 'oldin' of
'im. When we gets to the gates the orficer there
'e looks at the doctor's order paper, and 'e say,
' Pauper, um ! Out ye get, we takes charge of
'im ; and pays the cab. Slippy now, you two.'
'E didn't know what 'e was talkin' about : too
free wi' 'is tongue 'e was. 'Owever, we says good-
bye to Bob and gets out, and t'other 'e gets in :
but afore they'd took 'im fifty yards along the

138 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

carriage drive, they runs the blessed show into a
tree, the 'orse bein' took silly or some-at, and over-
turns the lot. Bob 'as another takin', and when
we come up 'e still 'ad 'old o' the winder strap
in 'is teeth — dead as a maggot ! A bit o' luck as

ever was."

Turning to Prince, I said, " I am so very sorry
to hear of your trouble, my man : but, Ben, I am
afraid I do not quite understand "

" Why, sir," he broke in, amazed at my dullness,
" sure Bob was inside the sacred prestincts, and
the ' House ' 'as to bury 'im ! Fred's all right ! "

Then I saw the turn of luck and was satisfied.

" But 'twas as narrer as you often get 'em in
this world," ended Ben ; " good night, all."

CHAPTER XII

PHILIP CREECH'S " XPLANASHUNS "

I HAVE long since reached the age when it
requires something rather urgent after dinner
to drag me from a book and a comfortable chair
at my own fireside. One evening, however,
something urgent did occur, for Mrs. Creech of
Hollowcombe Farm called and begged to see me.
From her I gathered that her husband had sud-
denly been "ripped all sideways," and it was at
his own instigation that she ventured to approach
me at such an hour and ask if I would come and
see him : at once, if possible.

Hollowcombe Farm is not so very far, being
only about a mile and a half away, but is of
difficult access, its only approach being a mud-
track between pasture fields. It is a small dairy
holding of some twenty acres all told, possessing
an indifferent old house, now derelict, planted in
eminently unsavoury surroundings. The resi-
dence and two fields were Mr. Creech's own free-
hold, the remaining ten acres he rented. The

139

140 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

farm is not actually in our parish at all, and my
acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Creech had so
far been of the flimsiest. But in face of such a
message from her husband I promised to follow
her in a few minutes.

Without any very definite charge against it,
I had understood in a vague way that Hollow-
combe was not quite as happy a household as
most around us. The reigning Mrs. Creech, a
second wife captured some three years ago and
imported from " somewhere down Dorset ways,"
had not proved herself a worthy successor of the
first. Rather undersized, with a sharp-featured
peevish face, and washed-out, shifty, uncertain
eyes which never met your own, Number Two
was about fifty-five : of a flat, slatternly appear-
ance and slovenly gait, she picked her way
through life like an aged guinea-fowl suffering
from chronic moult. Her " master " was fifteen
years her senior and had seen better days both in
his business, home and person. But for all that
he was a curiously ignorant man, whose first wife
must have been far the better horse and mainly
responsible for such a measure of success as their
small farm had attained in the past. She had
presented him with three children, two girk and
a boy, but all were now married and out in the
world. The family were always traditional

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 141

Dissenters and one of the mainstays of the chapel
" Bethel."

As it was a dark, overcast night, with only
fitful gleams of moonlight between the heavy
clouds, my walk was a somewhat unpleasant one
through the winter slush. I got within ten paces of
their door, however, without incident : but then
I was suddenly attacked in a most cowardly
spirit by an old grey gander and received a severe
nip behind : distinctly below the belt. I tried
to drive the bird away by every means I could
think of, both persuasive and violent, but all to
no purpose. At last it came for me with such
ferocity and determination that I was forced to
retire a pace or two : and the onslaught being
repeated just as a dark cloud obscured the moon,
I let out with my stick " at a venture," and, alas !
with too deadly effect. It smote him full " be-
tween the joints of the harness," that is, upon the
head, and the next moonbeam revealed a corpse.
This was a nice introduction to my prospective
ministrations within ! But if I began to feel a
bit anxious, this was soon relieved. In answer
to my knock, Mrs. Creech opened the door
cautiously, and asked through the crack if Simon
the gander was within measurable distance of
the pitchings, as he had but a few minutes before
inflicted upon herself a painful reminder of his

i42 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

enmity, as her shawl would testify. With many
apologies I was forced to confess to murder,
albeit quite unintentional, and pointed to my
victim. Whereupon Mr. Creech's voice from
upstairs demanded who was dead, for he knew
of no one else but himself travelling that road
at the moment.

" Tis old Simon," answered his wife : " 'e lays
as dead as a brick."

And the reply to this greatly reassured me.

" And I'm sayin' ' Glory be ' for that. It's
many a bite I'm owin' the old brute : a good
riddance as 'e should go and die afore me. Come
you up-along, sir, an you can see the stairs.
Phebe, do summat and make a light."

He lay in a gigantic four-post bed which
occupied the larger portion of the bedroom, and
made a grotesque figure, with his head and face
swathed about in a gaudy red and yellow handker-
chief.

'Tis real kind in you to be comin' to our
old place such a time o' night, sir," he began.
" 'Tisn't as if we'd been at one in our worship,
no, tisn't, or I'd rather say tabernacle, then. I
allus attended Minister Pharoah Mitchell's Chapel
up to Bethel, you know. But lor ! she'm emptied,
for Phary's gone as dry as a tinder, rotten as a
medlar, weared out same as me. 'E came in to

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 143

see me not but a few hours back-along, and e'
say :

" ' You've 'ad a stroke, Philip Creech.'

c Aye,' I says : 'I've 'ad a smart few one way
and another. You ask Phebe, she'm respondable
for 'em mostly. Comes o' bein' fool enough to
marry again — but there — you oughter know, you
gotten y'ur third. They'm a parcel o' Psalm-
singin' cats is second and thirds,' I says.

" ' You'm goin' over, brother,' 'e say.

" ' So I be,' I says : c and the River's tricky.
But there's ferry-skiffs safer than y'ur old ford.
Better by 'alf be catched in a ship nor stuck in
the mud. I'll be in sight o' dry land any'ow
whichever side o' the water I be thro wed up.
So I'm sendin' for Parson to pilot me now, Phary.
'Tis a question o' wheels or keels, and wi' water
up to y'ur neck I'm sidin' wi' Noah. That last
discourse o' yours on Aaron's beard and the
skirts of 'is clothin' settled me as you'm unsafe,'
I says. f Drippin' wi' oil from 'ead to foot, and
'im y'ur own fore-runner as you said, why, 'e
might 'a been a figure o' fun for the fifth o'
November, wi' 'is golden calves and that, no guide
through deep waters,' I says."

I tried to direct his thoughts into more serious
channels but he interrupted me.

" No, no, 'tis carnal advice I'm mostly wantin' :

144 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

t'other'll come when that's settled. My will
needs a witness."

1 Yes, quite right : but we shall want two, Mr.
Creech."

" Never, for a tiddly bit of a thing same as
mine be : but if you'm sure about it, I can send
over for me neighbour's carter to-morrow, an
I'm alive. But we'll risk it wi' one to-night."

I attempted to reassure him, for he appeared
wonderfully vigorous and strong, but he was quite
determined that he had only two days to live at
the outside. Indeed, he had little desire to get
better. I tried to explain the attestation clause
of a will, but all to no purpose. Should I>
then, start to draw up the will at once at his
dictation ?

" Bless you, sir, she'm settin' 'ere already,"
he answered, fumbling under the bedclothes :
" and is only waitin' for y'ur name to warm 'er
up like, and 'er'll 'atch off. I been sloggin' away
at 'er all yesterday and to-day. My right 'and's
all right for the writin', 'tis me left as 'ave left me,
as you might say. Tis all as plain as plain. But
you better take and read 'er if you'm doubtin' it.
I can trust you not to say nothin' to no one of
'er insides."

When I assured him that I was safe in that
respect, he produced a large sheet of paper from

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 145

beneath his body and handed it to me. Upon the
outside was written " to be opend by my son
nadab or i o my dortrs miriam or mary on the day

0 my deth."

Inside the wrapper was inscribed the following :

" to be put in my corfin and skrud down with me
my first wifs wedin ring from my watch chan
and the parlr rug mad o the skin o my old shep
dog David, thes to be askd to my fewnral and
teld as they as sumthin in my wil but wont an
they dont cum."

Here followed a long list of names I need not
repeat as they will appear in the clauses below.
Within this covering wrapper lay a large envelope
containing the will which was to be sealed down
when it had been witnessed. This envelope was
labelled "to be opend by my son nadab arftr

1 bin gravd and red by im to the kongregashun
in my gardn an tis fine an tis wet in the kart
shed."

As I withdrew the document the patient begged
me to shut the door and see that the one at the
foot of the stairs was also fast. When this was
done he asked me to read the contents to myself.
If I needed to put any questions, I must be pleased
to speak in " whipsers " as Phebe's ears were
long.

146 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

The following is a literal transcript of what I
had to read : —

" my wil wishs and surmin to be red and
pretched by my son nadab arftr i be gravd and
dun with for wich e to be payd 55. by my wif
phebe and she to and im now los. cider money
for my barers and £10 gravin xpenses £10 155.
in al out o er matrimony afor 'e reeds no mor.
nabby you get it at wons ere and now if you reeds
any mor with out it you forfits al yur legersee to
the church my lad. phebe got lots wot belongs
to we skors and skors o pounds."

At this point I " whipsered " to Mr. Creech
for information.

" I don't quite see what fund your wife is to
pay these sums out of. You say * out of her
matrimony.' What do you understand by that ? "

' Why," he replied, in some astonishment at
my ignorance, " all my money and things she've
took from me and my 'ouse ever since I married
'er. All she's made out o' me by makin' 'erself
my wife. She thinks everythin' she can take and
lay 'er 'ands to 'er can take and do what 'er likes
with. You'm not knowin' Phebe, 'ow sharp 'er
be at makin' everythin' 'er own. Terrible woman
to be sure. You ought to a knowed my first :
Phyllis were a wife to be proud of, good, 'oly,

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 147

'ard-workin', savin', just the diverse o' this thing.
I 'ad a tidy bit, and was doin' well when 'er was
took, poor thing : but Phebe 'ave just ruinated
me right and left. I tell y' it gives me the
fluke to 'ave 'er creepin' nigh me. Talk about
a stool o' wickedness or the frost on the
cabbages."

With that I had to be content, and, indicating
in dumb show that I understood, I returned to
my perusal of the will : —

" any i wat as a thin and aint ere at this reedin
wont av it it goes to my neses glory parker and
susan steevens arf and arf . i wish to pay all my
dets in ful.

the ministr and Idrs in bethel.

i. my rasr and the par o pattns wat was my
furst wifs is for ministr faro mitchell o
bethel chappl.

xplanashun. fary theym both good for
natchurl use but for you theym a speshul
aglory.1 stand em allus next yur bible on
the table or lik absylom youm lik to be ung
in the conseat o yur shiny wiskrs or get ard
artid and bogd on yur last passage o the red
se. wat with the remans o the flys and lis

1 Allegory.

148 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

on im mind you and the murrans and boils
only just eelin faro didunt find the goin by
chariot gig as esy as e thort. so kut orf yur
prid and stand i and dry in the pudls o temta-
shun.

2. the big par o bellus with a shel layd in on
er belly is for gideon blake.

xplanashun. giddy you bin a brokn
windid luk warm ladyosean Idr evr sine i
nod you. let the bellus mind you o yur
want to bio yur ash into flam afor youm
wayd in the gold skales and they spus you
out to innom.1

3. my new billook is for ezekiel perrott.

xplanashun. zeek i swallerd yur tung and
manrs for yers til they av blisterd my gissrd.
the ares you av growd sine you was a Idr
pushin with sid and sholdr and tredin and
fowlin the risin dew with yur fet av thind
out bethel til tis lik a old edg. tak and lay
em and bush the gaps or twil be to lat and
al the kongregashun will wandr out to betr
rivers and pastchurs as i dun and will be
Ithier for it but youm stil respondibl they
left so larfabl thin mind you.

1 Hinnom.

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 149

4. my adamanev druv out o edn in chiner up to

the mantl shlf and my pigwip is for abinadab
tripp.

xplanashun. binny youm a Idr mind,
now koncidr. if you dont no ow to nil yur
own ome ow be you to elp bethel, youm in
danger thru yur wif. al nose it. tak and
difend yurslf and stand furm afor worsr apns.
lif be al driv or be druv tis our leson sine
edn and the giddyreen pigs.

my famly

5. my money wats left o it for my son nadab

creech.

xplanashun. nabby you nose wer tis to.
find as good a plas for it in futchur and
dont let a sole no it. out o it you must giv
£20 to each o my neses yur kusins glory
parker and susan steevens.

6. my 2 fields and the ous is for my dortr miriam

pring wed to a good man so er be.

xplanashun. mirry the ous be fare wartr
tit but want elpin and pantin ere and there,
my own grownd i dun wel, but you tak and
sel it and you kan get a good pris for it. but
on no akount tak on the rest o the land i
rent tis a thurr bad lot. ungry and thirsty

150 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

ther sole fanted in em was rit on the fas o
evry cattle i evr put ther.

7. al my krokkry and fernitchur not mentshund

for others is for my dortr rnary reeves
wed to a good man so er be.

xplanashun. fernitchur inklud cow and
2 pigs.

the cow jael be a grand buterer but a sorey
bit to the milkin. best sing er a chun as
youm at it gerooslm the goldn servs as good
as any but evn with that kep yur i opn if
er katchs you napin er plays the jus with the
buckit.

the pigs be lear and rachel for if i as to
many and tothr to few theym both comin o
a good stok and worth som trubbl to kep.

8. my 4 gees is for my nevew benjamin creech.

xplanashun. binny it aint wat we kal a
mark o respkt but you av mad a lif long study
o ther natchurs and no wundr with yur
mothr as yur mothr and 5 be as many as yur
oldin wil karry."

Once again I had to whisper : " How many
geese have you on your farm ? "

" Four," answered Mr. Creech — " no, three
now, old Simon's dead o' course. So you've

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 151

got as fur as Benjamin 'ave you, sir ? Well, I must
change that four and five into three and four
tomorrer — or 'e won't see what I mean. You
might take and do it for me now, sir, please."

widrs.

9. my parlr karpit and 2 new pars o pants for

widr emly carter.

xplanashun. emly the flor o yur cotage
tis wet the kors o you sufrin from kold fet and
you got no i now to charf em for you. the
pants ave nevr bin on. theym mans o kors
but at yur tim o lif sext be just vanity.

10. the sid o bacon wat i curd last feberry is for

widr lizzy pitts.

xplanashun. lizz you chews the rit i
ther be 2 but the i wat phebe kurd ad best be
berry d. smel em and youl no oos wich.
min be nis and fat and i sen sum tim as yur
teths nothin but reeds shakin in the wind.

n. the dubbl sofr bed is for widr kate truscott.

xplanashun. kate tis a fashionable bit
with lots o thins so you best go thru it tim
and agan. last tim i ferruttd er we ad 2 rats
and a ibbit.1

1 Lizard,

152 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

othr frends

12. my gun is for my godson Joseph collins a

good strate lad so e be.

xplanashun. be karful kors er andls loos
and shem a bit spitful with er eels but er
never xplodid as yet and god stop er startin
on you.

13. al the dung on my plas and 2 for prongd

forks is for charles crutch.

xplanashun. on kondishun charlie you
furst clens out the sesspit for my dortr mary
reeves and kuts al the mors1 out. an you
dont lik the job glory and susan my neses
pokerts the dung.

14. my turf stak is for rhoda mutters.

xplanashun. rhoda i nose you suffers
from kold but ther be a aglory in the stak for
you as wel. turf's be just rotn erbs and wen
dry be fit for nothin but the fire, but wons
lited tis ard to put out. cow dung be the
sam. tho you sets by the dor down at botum
i sin yur devoshuns up to bethel be wundrful
mild just lik yurself mutters, rotn erbs
they be fit fur nothin but the fire, tak kar
the old devul dont set a lit to em ther be
no telin wer twil stop and you as dry as a

1 Roots or fibres.

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 153

stik. rhoda in the book was set by the dor
to arkn kors er wud do nothin els so youm
a aglory to yurself outsid the stak an you ad
the sens to se it. wen er arkd twas no good
wantin devoshuns to no wat to do next.

15. the det o £6 wat bin owin to me by george

marley for 3 yers for ay wat i soled im

is for jim brace.

xplanashun. jim youm just lukky no
okkashun to be i and liftid up about it for
you gets this det only kors i nose no i els as
kan sques it out o georg oo as ad it to long.

1 6. my birdclock is for fred luker.

xplanashun. if the kookoo be tok corfin
ovr is tim oil is string tis stif and to be ovr-
mindid o the flit o tim revolvs sain and
doin thins wats bad for the sole.

17. my ferrutt is for torn drummett.

xplanashun. is nam be agrippr and e
allus smelld lik el the kors o is boltin the
vermin so terribl quik. they fornose em
comin. and e evr gets liteddid at nit.
tak no notis o both trifls.

1 8. the bras warminpan is for eliza trott.

xplanashun. liza tis a unlukky pece fit
only for dekorashun. she meltd the air

iS4 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

kushn wat was undr my granfather and
smelld im out o the bed and left 3 sinders
on arnt anns rit leg the nit er died, be
karful.

19. the larg bible with bras lips and my cider pres

is for jehonadab toucher.

xplanashun. my vews o the 2 silly st
errers if they baint the 2 onreliablst liars
in the bok i men mefusilla and recab be rit
in the fallow around jeremiar 35 together
with the best reseat for makin cidr win.

20. to my wif phebe. we bin wed 3 yers but

adnt bin 3 ours afor the botum fel out o
the bargin. the mischief -arm you dun me
then to now be unkountabl paul isslf
karnt rekon it and i aint goin to try and mak
a dikshunry o it ere. you ment to ave
your phil and av ad most o wat e ad. I nose
morn you thinks, you must a layd a prety
nest eg agenst my deseas. but my gold
watch and phylliss 3 broochs and the 2 silv
spons you sharnt kep. the porn tikits for
em in yur nam be in this will enverlop and
nabby wil and em to jo trimble oo wil se
you redem em for im out o yur matrimony
or persekut you for a rubr. if my phyllis
ad evr set iis on you i must a lorst er earlier.

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 155

you brort nothin but trubbl into this ous
and i tak kar you karry nothin els out with
the xepshun o thes legerses from me namly
wesleys misshun ymn bok with our marrag
lins in er the framd piktchur ovr the dressr
o the proddiggl usks and my nale sissrs.

21. I must lay next phyllis.

the rim for my gravestone to be
phyllis filld
philips kup.
phebe spilld.
philips up.

22. my god this be my cignatchur philip creech.

adres oiler kom. okkupashun diin."
On seeing that I had read to the end my friend
on the bed began to ask questions.

" Now sure you'm not thinkin' she wants y'ur
claws to 'old 'er down ? An I took and fixed 'er
wi' a bit o' cord and a smidge o' seals wax — I don't
doubt you got some about you, I mean when
you've put y'ur name to 'er o' course — she'm
fast enough, eh ? "

" Yes, the clause is still necessary, and un-
fortunately I don't as a rule carry sealing wax,"
I replied, as I refolded his remarkable piece of
work. " Farther, we must have a second witness,
who need not read your will if you object."

156 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

"Oh, well, 'tis a easy trouble. Me neighbour's
carter-man'11 be workin' near 'ere tomorrer.
But another's worser, I can't get me out o' bed
to 'ide 'er from Phebe : and I been thinkin' you
best take 'er 'ome in y'ur pockert, and come up
wi' y'ur claws fixin' 'er tomorrer, and I'll get
carter Tripp in 'is dinner hour twixt twelve and
one, an that suits you, sir ? And fetch a lump o'
wax too, please. You see, my son Nabby be comin'
up next day and I can 'and 'er to 'im then."

And so it was settled. And that's how I came
to make a copy of the will before returning to
Hollo wcombe the following day. There every-
thing was at last satisfactorily got through, the
document re-signed and dated, and witnessed by
myself and the carter, the only difficulty encount-
ered being over the signature of the latter, whose
hands were as hard and unwieldy as slabs of oak.
Handling the pen very much as he would a hoe,
he attacked his job with the same energy as he
employed hoeing turnips and perspired freely
over such an unwonted task. Indeed, he entirely
destroyed four nibs whose points fled about in all
directions, and inflicted several severe wounds
through the paper ere he got " Tom Tripp "
inscribed.

It is now no breach of confidence to disclose
the contents of the Creech " surmin," for all

PHILIP CREECH'S XPLANASHUNS 157

this happened years ago, and both Mr. and Mrs.
Creech have long since been " gathered. " The
will became the common property of the " Kongre-
gashun," but even by them it is now probably
almost forgotten.

CHAPTER XIII
THE KEEPER'S CATCH

SOME months ago in the winter my keeper,
James Brace, came and asked leave to take
out a summons in a case of poaching. It ap-
peared that whilst on his rounds the previous
evening, he had come across a man lying at full
length upon the ground and peering over the edge
of a deep quarry, obviously watching for his
ferrets. Several bolt-holes were netted, and other
evidences of the man's craft lay beside him, but
no rabbits. So dropping quietly behind some
whin bushes, under the impression that the
poacher was not aware of his presence, Brace
decided to await events. Unfortunately a heavy
mist came up from the sea very suddenly and
obliterated everything. When it lifted, half an
hour later, the man had disappeared.

Could he identify the culprit ? Yes, without
any doubt whatever, though neither he nor the
poacher had spoken a word. Brace was absolutely
certain of his man, and could swear to him in any

court in the land.

158

THE KEEPER'S CATCH 159

* We must be sure of a conviction, Brace, or
it's worse than useless to follow up the case.
You say you have no other witness : and from
what you tell me, I fail to see how you can identify
your man and satisfy the Bench."

" Well, I can. 'Tis like this, sir. Blanketed
as I were in that fog, I daresn't move : 'twas
too dangerous, I thinks to meself, not only for
me, but if I pounces on 'im 'e might easy slip
over the edge too. As 'e 'adn't seen nor 'card me
(or so I thought) I makes up me mind to wait
and chance it. But settin' there if I wasn't seein'
any thin' I were listenin' : and sure enough,
though I never 'card 'im leave, I did 'ear twice
over all I wanted. P'raps you'm not knowin'
it, but there's many 'ereabouts as does, and 'is
wife complained to me about it only the week
afore she died. From time to time 'e do make the
most audacious noises of 'is insides, like as if
Vd took and swallowed a policeman's rattle.
Shouldn't wonder if 'e wasn't threatened with the
apprentices.1 When I 'eard that call I knew my
customer."

" It won't do, Brace. I'm sorry — but no Bench
can be expected to convict upon such evidence ! "

" Very good, sir," replied my keeper, " though
I'd like for the magistrates to 'ave 'eard 'is

1 Appendicitis.

i6o SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

orchester. Any'ow, let 'im wait : once I gets a
'old on 'im, I'll 'ug 'im what 'e'll remember.
'Tis Dan Knight, sir, o' course."

Though ignorant of his ventriloquial eccen-
tricities I had felt sure of it. A thorough rogue
was Knight. In consideration of his father, a
former keeper, having been shot at a tenants'
shoot many years before my time, Dan had been
granted a life tenancy of the old house up in the
woods. But his knowledge of wild life, coupled
with such unique opportunities as his cottage
affords, rendered him a terrible thorn in a keeper's
side. I had warned Knight half a dozen times
already, but had found him a man of unbridled
temper. His physical powers were contemptible,
but as if to compensate for this, being convinced
of the efficacy of vicarious virtue, he married a
woman of more than ample proportions, who at
the time of her death weighed nineteen stone.
Knight lived in the reflected glory of Laura's
gifts, and considered for some curious reason
that he should be regarded as someone in
particular.

" I'll catch him yet," said Brace.

May, the month of beauty and blossom, and
cricket, was with us. Our Cricket Club held a
meeting at which it was decided to open the season,

THE KEEPER'S CATCH 161

on the loth, with a match between an eleven
picked from members over thirty, and another
from members under thirty. The only difference
of opinion evinced arose over the precise designa-
tion by which it should be advertised. Someone
was greatly in favour of " Seniors v. Juniors " : a
farmer advanced " Horses v. Colts " : and a
facetious choirman suggested " Days and Mo-
ments." But in the absence of unanimity, and
as being of small importance, the matter was
ultimately left open.

The day of the match came at last. The sky
was cloudless, and the air full of scent and song
as I walked to the cricket ground. A refreshment
tent, to act also as a pavilion, had been improvised
of rick-cloths. From the school, forms had been
requisitioned and were fast filling with onlookers
of both sexes. Under a pair of elm trees a brace
of ancients had long since ensconced themselves
and, with a private cask of cider and a quart
tankard between them, were prepared to make a
day of it.

Presently the players straggled on to the ground
in twos and threes. The " Over Thirtys," or
" Horses " were for the most part marked by
an open disregard for any special " get up " for
the contest. Farmers wore their Sunday hard
felt hats. The publican had donned his riding

162 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

breeches. Labourers were in their ordinary
corduroys. Brace, the keeper, concealed his
splendid physique in brown knickers and a khaki
shirt, but shed his velvet coat. Only two appeared
in a complete outfit of flannels. The majority
realised that to win would entail hard work, and
for that they felt best prepared in clothes to which
they were most accustomed. With the " Under
Thirtys," most of whom were under twenty, or
the " Colts, " it was a somewhat different story.
They had been on the look-out for any advantage
which might secure them the backing and admira-
tion of the crowd. Four profited by the Jumble
Sale, held a week before, and availed themselves
of costumes which lent a spot or two of colour,
and afforded an adequate background to their
prowess — to wit, four suits of my old pyjamas.
That they realised these were likely to prove
breezy habiliments so early in the season was
proved by the fact that in every case the striped
flannel was reinforced by their working trousers,
and only served as the thinnest of veneer ; so
transparent, indeed, that the grain and pattern
of the groundwork beneath were plainly traceable.
In emulation of this display Dan Knight ap-
proached me, and in an aside begged for the
loan of some suitable and distinctive coat in which
to " count the pennies," that is, to occupy the

THE KEEPER'S CATCH 163

post of umpire, to which honour he and Ben
Brindle had been elected. From my cricket bag,
whose contents were at the disposal of members
on such important occasions, I produced an old
Leander Rowing Club coat, which, though several
sizes too large, more than satisfied his jealousy
of those in pyjamas.

The admiration of the maidens for these gor-
geous swains was unconcealed : the smiles which
played upon their ripe red lips and glittering eyes
spoke volumes. But as the Colts practised with
bat and ball, their costume served to excite a deal
of good-natured chaff. " Bowl us down one,
Stripy": "Whoa! Zebra, don't yj kick";
" Give us a taste, Edinburgh Rock 5> : and in
allusion to the brass buttons on my Leander
coat, " What cheer ! Skipper Knight, Ws the
weather ? J! As he wore none, the keeper was
hailed as " Braces."

Youth won the toss : but for some unfathom-
able reason he put Age in to bat first. Whilst
Youth ranged himself about the field, each select-
ing a place to his liking without any reference to
the bowler, it was suddenly discovered that the
provision of both scoring-book and scorer had
been overlooked. But Brindle, the sexton, ever
prepared for all emergencies, promptly produced
a blank page from a disused Baptismal Register :

164 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

and the schoolmistress (coached by several lads
on the bench beside her) offered to score. Knight
adjusted the bails and took up his station. Brindle
at the bowler's end, produced a new ball : and
two veterans advanced to open the innings.

Nothing of great importance occurred till the
telegraph, chalked upon a blackboard from the
school, registered twenty runs for the loss of
five wickets. But at this point I was made aware
of a violent altercation between the scorer and her
satellites, and drew nearer to ascertain the cause.
The last batsman was given out L.B.W.

" I shall use no shorthand in my report," was
her firm reply : and she proceeded to write
" Elbow in the way." The next run was given
by the umpire as a " leg-bye," the meaning of
which was explained to her.

" Nonsense, boys, nonsense ! I just happen
to have been watching myself, and I distinctly
saw the ball strike him on his — his — well, we will
put down, * that part of his person which, in his
bending posture with his back towards the
pavilion, was most prominently exposed to the

scorer.'

It seemed that the register-leaf would not
suffice for such graphic details : and when I
suggested that I should relieve her of her arduous
duty, she gladly accepted, explaining as she

THE KEEPER'S CATCH 165

resigned that in the bowling analysis the M's
in black pencil signified Maidens (or ones who
had not been struck), the M's in red pencil
stood for Matrons (or those who had suffered
punishment).

The Horses were pulling evenly if slowly,
having made thirty for six wickets : but even so
they appeared to Knight to be doing over-well.
This misfortune was aggravated by the fact
that in stealing a short run, Bartlett, a batsman
wearing spikes, overran the wicket and trod
heavily on the Skipper's toe. Now Mrs. Bartlett
tenants that cottage whose drying ground adjoins
the cricket field. Moreover, it was she who nursed
the celebrated Mrs. Knight, and took in part-
payment for her services that worthy's night-
dress, which at the moment was bellying in the
wind upon the line. This outrage offered Knight
a chance of reprisal for his wound, as well as an
opportunity for the assertion of his dignity. So
the game was suspended while he called Bartlett 's
little son, Robert, from among the spectators,
and shouted across the field to him :

" Go in and tell your mother to take that thing
off 'er line. 'Tisn't 'onest nor yet Christian to
purposely mislead decent folks into believin' as
she could fill it. Not another woman in the parish
could do that outside my poor wife : and as for

1 66 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

your mother, she'd be lost in one sleeve of it —
so she would."

The last three words were edged with a vengeful
look at Bartlett, who, however, took no notice
beyond punning " poor little Knight's shirt ! "
And the game was resumed.

The score was standing at thirty-six for nine
wickets when Brace was called upon to go in last
man. Disdaining the pads and gloves pressed
upon him — terming the former " coward's cup-
boards," and having no use for the latter since
" I'm not going to church," — Brace moistened his
hands in the approved fashion, and seizing a bat
walked to the wicket. But there his stance was
so unusual (his bat was held over his shoulder
like a gun) and his general mien so threatening,
that the youthful bowler having delivered the
ball, promptly vanished behind the umpire for

protection, just in case There was no need

for this : the ball had already left the field for
six. Off the next one Brace scored two. But in
gathering himself together to eclipse, if possible,
both these successes in a mighty effort at the third,
the bat escaped his grasp and hurtled through
the air in the direction of long on, and losing his
balance he brought down wickets and wicket-
keeper in a sorry heap beneath him on the turf
amid an uproar of applause.

THE KEEPER'S CATCH 167

Thus the Horses' total stood at forty-four.

It was now the Colts' turn : and one gathered
their confidence of an easy victory by such
audible comments as :

" If we'm not good for four apiece, must be a
poor crew." And again, " Jim Bradworth's like
enough to mow the lot wi' 'is own scythe."

As the preparations for their attack proceeded,
one noticed that the Horses' tactics differed
somewhat from those recently employed by the
Colts. For instance, they selected bowlers of
medium pace rather than those boasting fast
reputations. But then the pitch was fiery and
wearing very badly. They also dispensed with
a wicket keeper, regarding the office as open
only to an attitudinarian : they had no use for
such, and relied on a longstop known to everyone
to be a deadly shot with the ball, and who, even
should he miss the wicket, would undoubtedly
imperil the limbs, if not the life, of any batsman
taking liberties.

The innings opened somewhat doubtfully,
from want of practice, but by slow degrees the
Colts amassed a promising thirty-eight for six
wickets. But this was in small measure due to
luck, or to more than one doubtful decision given
by Knight, who was quite determined that Youth
should win. Was not his son Jim among the

1 68 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

prophets ? And had he not broken the laws of
cricket by " 'avin' five bob on ? "

For instance, on one occasion, the brothers
Tim and John Collet were in together, and Tim
impulsively called John for a run. Cover-point
neatly gathered the ball, and throwing down
John's wicket, appealed.

" In for you, John," declared the Skipper,
" you'm doin' very well. But I wouldn't 'a been
so blasted sure an it 'ad been Tim ; 'e'm riskin'
the game and we'd be better wi'out 'im."

Another time Knight called " Over."

" Well, all right," replied the bowler, " but I
know I've only sent down three."

" Aye," said the umpire, " and 'ave 'it 'im
somewheres in 'is body wi' each one, ain't yer ?
D'yer want to kill 'im ? That's no cricket.
* Over ' I say, and if I say 'tis ' over,' so 'tis."

Knight knew he was safe ; respect for any
decision of the umpire was the one principle of
the game I had successfully instilled into everyone
at Hawkescombe.

Excitement was now growing apace, and the
betting got fast and furious. In our Club even
umpires in such a crisis were not debarred from
expressions of their sentiments. Brindle audibly
prepared a grave for the recipient of every ball :
and Knight had serious fault to find with each

THE KEEPER'S CATCH 169

successful piece of fielding. The twin spectators
under the elms with their tankard of cider,
vociferously applauded every few moments with-
out prejudice : what they applauded they knew
not, both having long since passed the stage of
focussing the game.

But now, with no addition to the score, the Tea
Interval was suddenly announced by the ringing
of a bell : and a very full and heavy meal of cake
and quarts of tea was stored away by everyone.

With the game resumed a bad rot set in among
the Colts, two more wickets falling for no runs.
Eight for forty ! The ninth man cut a ball for
two, and surely the plague was stayed ; for a few
minutes later, his partner, following suit bravely,
lifted a loose ball into the elm trees, which rudely
roused the slumbering brothers. With one
consent both fell across the precious cask, whose
safety in this hour of peril was their only thought.

But with the next ball, No. 9 was clean bowled.
Nine for forty-four. A tie ! And one more man to
bat. But time was running a bit short, as it had
been settled by the captains to draw stumps at
six- thirty. Some minutes elapsed, but at last
Jim Knight, now the sole remaining hope of
salvation for his side, stepped slowly out of the
pavilion in response to various appeals from the
field to " hurry up." But a Knight was not to be

170 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

hurried by anyone, and to simulate a calm which
he was obviously far from feeling, Jim halted again,
half-way on his journey to the wicket, to re-tie a
bootlace. His batting partner came out to meet
him with a whispered counsel and, on parting,
emphasised it with a pat of encouragement from
his bat. That was the beginning of disaster.
Those pyjamas, pink, and blue, and chocolate
in stripes, which made Knight beautiful, were
very weak. I knew it : and at the piece of
pleasantry with the bat they melted like a Nea-
politan ice, and a streak of several inches of
corduroy disfigured his seat.

Nothing daunted by this contretemps (duly
reported to him), Jim prepared to deal with his
first ball as a half-volley : but realising in it,
very late, the deadly yorker, he dropped so
clumsily upon it that the handle of his bat got
badly mixed up with the flowing girdle of his
colours. His combined exertions to right matters
and keep on his feet resulted in a sad extension
of the wound from hip to knee.

Excitement now was absolutely at fever-heat,
the tension well-nigh unendurable. Men's pipes
were resolutely laid aside upon the benches. One
veteran had even forgotten to wipe his heavy
beard since that last attack upon his tankard,
which remained poised in his hand half-way from

THE KEEPER'S CATCH 171

his mouth. Maidens clasped each others' hands,
and every movement in the field was hailed with
little screams of nervousness. Knight was badly
fidgeting his pennies : and even Brindle had begun
to hum the chant for the ninetieth Psalm.

Double honour then to Jim that his deshabille
flapped unheeded, and that he punished the next
ball as it deserved. The full pitch to leg he got
" well on the meat," and hit it all he knew. But
it chanced Father Knight was standing in the way
near square leg and, at his elbow, Brace was
fielding. Unable to avoid that slog, the Skipper
received the ball exactly amidships and doubled
up. In an instant, before he could unfurl, Brace,
stooping like a peregrine, seized him and lifted
him off his feet, baby-fashion. Pressing him
together like a concertina, with his head between
his knees despite his furious struggles, Brace
called upon the field to hasten to his side. In the
space of half a minute the entire company of
spectators as well as players had gathered round.
Commanding several on his side to lie down
flat upon their backs with hands in readiness,
the keeper shook the umpire, saying, " Now,
Master Orchester, where 's my quarry rabbits to,
eh ? " And, having hugged him, he next pro-
ceeded steadily to unfold his victim inch by inch,
until at last the ball dropped from the creases of

172 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

his coat into eager hands below and Ben Brindle,
overcome with joy and the humour of the situa-
tion, decided that the catch was held !

" So 'tis a draw after all said and done seem-
ingly : couldn't be more evensome ! "

" You lost us the match, dad," remarked Jim
to the Skipper in the pavilion.

" Match be d d,J> was the heated reply.

" I lost five bob on it ! And I'm doubtin' there's
a whole bone in my blasted body. Sakes ! That
Brace 'e'm mighty — a 'most the match o' me and
Laura ! "

CHAPTER XIV

LETTY'S WOOING

PROBABLY one of the best-known figures
in Hawkescombe was Letty Marchant, for
her cottage stood at four cross-roads, two of which
are highways with a considerable stream of
traffic : the other two being more in the nature
of accommodation ways to farms, and steep at that.
From its situation her house was called " Broken-
way." Here Letty was ever to be seen sitting,
in the summer under the shade of her porch of
honeysuckle, and in winter over the fire, her door
wide open, making lace with her cushion and
bobbins. Like a spider she had chosen an ex-
cellent site for the webs she was ever spinning : as
good a trap to catch the passing traveller as could
be found, and she did a thriving trade at times.
In addition to her skill in making she got occa-
sional good commissions for mending and cleaning
valuable old pieces of lace, which required the
greatest care and thorough knowledge of the
material.

173

174 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Another big asset on her side lay in her great
personal charm. At the time I write of she was
a buxom woman of forty-eight, with a full, jolly
face and clear skin, dark eyebrows and hazel eyes,
and, what is always so becoming, prematurely
grey, almost white, hair waving in the daintiest
of ripples on her forehead and over her ears.
Yes, Letty was attractive without a doubt : few
passed her without a second glance and then
they were undone. Her smile almost compelled
an inspection of her wares, which in turn was
succeeded by an irresistible temptation to pur-
chase a memento of " Broken-way."

Strong as her face was in character as well as
in comeliness, Letty had one great weakness — I
ought, perhaps, to say a penchant, or even a
virtue — no one might have thought of associating
with her, and that was dancing. One could never
visit a fair within reasonable distance without
finding her hard at work near the band or musical
merry-go-round, for she always prevailed upon
some farmer or milkman to give her a lift thither,
and to do this was regarded by them as rather an
honour than otherwise, since Letty was always
excellent good company. At our parish gather-
ings and annual garden party to the villagers
she was the gayest of the gay ; presenting herself

LETTY'S WOOING 175

at the Manor well before the time, and starting
off with the band, she danced with the abandon
of a dervish till ready to drop. Dancing is, of
course, one of the great pastimes in Somerset,
and very beautifully and gracefully the country
folk do it, young and old alike : it is born in them,
and they delight in it. But there was one curious
thing noticeable about Letty which marked her
out among all the other performers : she never
took a partner, but danced hour after hour alone.
One reason of this lay in the peculiarity of her
steps, which few, if any, of her neighbours cared
to master. They appeared to be a species of
horn-pipe, or something in the nature of a cross
between that and a Highland Fling, requiring
no small art and perseverance in their execution.

But there were deeper virtues in her than
dancing. Wise in counsel, and sound in judg-
ment she was a Mother in Israel : " Letty thinks
this " : " Letty says so-and-so/' always counted
for much in Hawkescombe. Being kindness
itself, ever ready to do anything for anyone, and
remarkably motherly with children, whom she
really understood, Letty was universally popular.
And yet she had always struck me as being a
somewhat lonely soul. As with her lonely
dancing so in her life, I somehow got it into my

176 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

head there was something missing, something
wanting. Were all the men in her youth fools ?
Or where is the unlucky one who lost her ?
Questions such as these would puzzle me. Per-
haps I did wrong, but it was not really idle
curiosity only which made me try at one time to
ferret out her history on the quiet. I gained
nothing for my pains, or nothing of interest.
All knew her forbears several generations back.
An only child, she had gone out to service as a
girl ; and when her parents died had returned
to the old home and taken up her mother's trade
with the lace.

As I knew she was always delighted to see me,
I used to call on Letty from time to time and have
a " tell " : yet I never left her cottage without
feeling there was something wistful in her good-
bye. Poverty as a cause was certainly ruled out.
Till the war she seemed to be one of those, and
they are not few with us, who possess means of
subsistence from a private store of legacies which
are hoarded up and passed on down the family
and are known to few outside near relations.
Banking is distrusted : paper money and cheques
are often steadily refused : cash in gold and silver
coin is the only recognised currency and is hidden
away at home : the marvel being that these folk
are not oftener robbed. The possessors are very

LETTY'S WOOING 177

careful of their hoard : the knowledge that it is
there is in itself both meat and drink in the
security it affords against old age or sickness, a
wedding or a rainy day. But it has to rain hard
before they dip into it.

However it may have been of old with Letty,
the pinch of recent years very soon clutched her
hard. Lace-making without a regular clientele
is but a precarious livelihood at all times : and
dependence on casual sale, however good at
intervals, was soon out of the question for Letty
with no tourists or holiday-makers of means
upon the road. Farther, the cost of material
rendered any profitable selling price prohibitive
excepting to the very rich, of whom the high-road
past Broken-way could never boast many, and the
passing few now passed no longer. I had this
all in my eye and often thought of Letty, even
venturing once or twice to ask if things were
difficult. She always passed off the question with
cheery optimism, till at last one day she asked to
see me, and begged me with many apologies to
buy the very lovely length of lace which she
produced. Its market value was far beyond my
means, and so I offered to try and sell it for her
in London.

" She been made a year or two and bain't
new : not to say new, then," she explained :

178 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

:< but I rather 'er didn't go off up England
way — an you'm forgivin' my daring to ask you,

sir."

' Wait a moment, Letty," I said, " and I will
fetch my wife and see what we can do."

When we returned I did not miss the handker-
chief she thrust so quickly out of sight into her
pocket, nor yet the loving way in which she
handled the lace for our inspection, her eyes
dwelling on it with a wistful reverence, making
it plain that she was only parting from it with the
utmost reluctance. Yet half its value was as much
as we could afford, and I told her so.

"I'm taking it very kindly an' you'll give me
that, sir ; 'twould make a pretty wedding present
for one o' your young ladies, now."

" Ah, Letty, you must not tempt my girls
into hasty weddings even to secure your lovely
work."

* Well — maybe 'tis better than tarrying over-
long, sir," sighed Letty, " maybe 'tis ! "

I laid the lace aside, but her words stayed with
me, they might mean much.

Months went by and nothing happened : but
then like an avalanche events tumbled over one
another in bewildering disorder. When returning
home one afternoon I thought I would call at

LETTY'S WOOING 179

Broken-way and beg a piece of string for my
armful of flowers gathered on the hills. But as I
passed the window and peeped in I changed my
mind, and went on my way with lighter heart.
There was that within which must not be dis-
turbed ; a man with his back to me had been very
busy holding Letty's face in both his hands and
kissing it as only one who loves knows how
to kiss, and the face he kissed was speaking
volumes.

Then three days later, as I lay hidden in a wood
watching my birds, who should come along and
sit her down against the bole of a splendid beech,
not ten yards from me, but Letty with a bundle
of sticks she had been gathering. Whilst wonder-
ing whether I should give up my job and carry
them for her, or whether her gallant knight would
make his appearance and do so, I overheard her
say, speaking to herself :

* I 'ad to sell 'er — yes, I did — so I did : well,
well." And again : " I was bound to, you see —
yes, I was — so I was."

And then before my mind was made up she
shouldered her faggot, which was none too heavy,
and was gone. Had she meant the lace, I won-
dered ? and was far from happy.

Next day, when returning from taking service

i8o SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

in an outlying hamlet, I saw ahead of me, in a
narrow lane little frequented, a sight which made
me pause and seriously question the evidence
of my senses. For there was Letty with someone,
unmistakably a sailor, whose arm was unmistak-
ably as far round her waist as it could get. Things
were indeed moving apace, and I hurriedly got
me home by a short cut to avoid overtaking that
leisurely pair.

Whatever could it mean ?

In another ten days came our parochial garden
party, and for the first time in its history Letty was
not with us. It was, of course, remarked upon by
all, and troubled me so much that the following day
I hurried up to Broken- way. She received me
with as bright a welcome as usual, but quite
contrary to her habit was sitting indoors, with her
back to the window, doing nothing.

" No, sir, no ; I'm not feeling meself. Truth
is I'm in trouble ; yes, I be. I missed your party
yesterday by being to the 'ospital : but I'll take
it kindly an you say nothing to no one about it ;
no, please ! JTis me eyes, sir. I've a dark time
coming. Doctor 'e summed 'em up very poorly,
'e did. ' No more lace work for you, mother ' ;
them was 'is words then. Mustn't never go nigh
it again. There be a carrot-tack 1 in me eyes

1 Cataract.

LETTY'S WOOING 181

what '11 kill 'em — put the light clean out — so
'twill — yes, 'twill ! Can't think whatever I'll do."

And then I learned that Letty, too, could cry.

I tried my best to comfort her, but my heart
was sore. And two days later I took her down to
Exeter myself, but only to hear the verdict re-
peated. She had cataract in both, but when
" ripe " there was every hope of a successful
operation. Meanwhile, she must make no more
lace, the strain was too great. The prospect for
poor Letty was gathering darkness, and she was
all alone.

Four days later, with many wild schemes for
helping her coursing through my mind, I was
again approaching Letty's cottage, when its door
opened and a man came out, who hastened to
meet me. He was a tall, well set-up young fellow
of some eighteen to twenty years, with a frank, open
face and jolly, boyish, irresponsible manner.
He seemed to know me and asked if I were Mr.
Percivall. When I said " yes " he became
communicative and very confidential. He talked
about himself and Letty, who it seemed had been
his nurse, his " Nanny," as he called her. There
had been enduring affection between them and
he knew her story. I learnt the truth that no
one at Hawkescombe had ever known. Letty,
twenty years before this time, had fallen in love

182 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

with a sailor called Jack Mason, who got into
trouble of some kind and bolted off to sea. She
had proved faithful as a hound and had never
given up hope. It was he who had taught Letty
her strange outlandish dancing, and yet it seemed,
or so my young friend told me, that when Mason
had come to see her a few days before, she had
sent him away, as he put it, " with a flea in his
ear." The boy was sorry for her, though he
appeared a flighty enough young fellow and let
me into his own private affairs. He was about to
marry and Letty years ago had promised to make
a length of lace for the wedding dress of his bride.
He had spoken of this, and somehow, he did not
know why, Letty had broken down. As he spoke
poor Letty's tragedy became plain to me. She
could not tell him about her eyes. She could
not pain one she loved and spoil his new-found
happiness. That was Letty all over ; surely,
surely ! And as for that length of lace, did I not
know what had become of it ? To think she had
been compelled to sell it !

Before I parted from my talkative young friend
I found out where Jack Mason lived at Watchet,
and as I went home I said to myself :

" I can spin webs on my cushion and bobbins
as well as you, Letty ! >:

LETTY'S WOOING 183

Next morning I had out the car, and without
much difficulty ferreted out Mr. James Mason,
at Watchet, and to my untold delight found him
as jolly a British tar as one could wish to see.
Holding out my hand I addressed him somewhat
familiarly :

" I see you've forgotten me, Jack Mason ? "

His eyes pierced me through and through, and
removing his pipe he expectorated freely before
answering.

" Never seen you in my life as I knows, sir —
but we'm meetin' such a maze o' folk during the
war, can't keep alongsides of 'em."

" Ah, but I've seen you, Mr. Mason."

" You've my name right enough, I own, sir,
but where was it you seen me ? "

" At a place you know. I saw you with a friend
of mine."

I approached a seat, but he stayed me with a
heavy hand.

" You sit there and your tale's like to be refined
to one perigraph of pain ! They only swarmed
this morning ! "

And then I saw that the seat I proposed
to take was a swarm of bees boxed. Under
his guidance I took another and he sat beside
me,

184 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" Well, sir, where was it ? And 'oo was that
friend of mine ? "

" I live at Hawkescombe and so does Letty,
Mr. Mason."

His brain was slow and for a moment he fixed
me with a glaring eye. Then he roused up
wonderfully.

" You've not forgotten her already ? >:

" I never forgotted 'er and besides "

" Letty is a wonder, Mr. Mason. I heard,
not from her, that you once loved her."

" Once ! "

He fairly shouted it.

" Then you still love her ? "

" If you'm knowing Letty Marchant and can
ask any man that ! Well, 'tis like asking ' D'ye
like 'oney ? ' There's only one answer, ' Give
me the spoon.' But she turned me down, sir."

" Did she ? Are you ready to do everything
for her as if she were a baby ? She is crippled,
Mason ! "

" Crippled ! "

He held out two hands like a brace of hams and
said :

" They'm good for two, I'm thinkin' — bar the
lace ! " '

" Never any more lace, Mason. Letty is
going blind."

LETTY'S WOOING 185

It seemed to stun him and yet

" God's truth, sir ! But she'm not missin'
much in not seein' me, so long as I can get a look

at 'er. Is that why Oh, sir, W did you

take your bearin's ? You're dead sure she — she
cares still ? Did she say so ? "

" No : that would not be like her, would it ?
Letty wouldn't take you because she couldn't
face being a burden to you : and she couldn't
tell you because her poor heart was too sore, and
you didn't coax her enough. You want to be
very gentle with her : for I'm sure she still loves
you — I found it out : Letty wouldn't let a man
put his arm round her waist "

" 'Old on, there ! What d'you know about 'er
waist ? "

" Not so much as you do, Jack ! Oh ! I saw
you not very long ago in a lane at Hawkescombe.
And she still dances alone, and practises horn-
pipes "

He rose from his seat.

" When I've washed meself I'm off to 'Awkes-
combe, s'elp me ! But so be there's any ogus-
bogus about your story "

And he made for the cottage. I called after
him :

" Put in a shave while you're about it, Mr.
Mason ! There's plenty of time, I've got my car

1 86 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

up the road, and your chin might hurt poor
Letty."

" Tears to me you've 'ad some practice your-
self, sir : you'm well versed about it all," he said
with a grin as he disappeared.

An hour later, as we were nearing Hawkescombe,
I said to him :

" I want your help, Jack. Give this little parcel
to Letty for me, will you ? "

I gave him the lace done up in a packet and he
pinched it doubtfully.

" Shrimps, sir ? JOw d'you know she'd like
'em ? Seems to me you'm knowin' a wonderful
much about my Letty. And 'oo shall I say they
was from ? "

" No, it's not shrimps : and she will know
whom it's from without waiting to be told."

" Good job they bain't shrimps, sir — an they
was, I'd a took the liberty o' pitchin' 'em out o'
the car. I got prawns for 'er in my pocket : they'm
better nor the shrimps. But I'll see 'er unpack
the parcel, and if there's notes in it I'll take care
of 'em for 'er."

And he gave a jealous look at me which augured
well. Then, with a parting injunction not on
any account to put my parcel into his pocket
for fear of spoiling the prawns, I dropped Jack
opposite Broken-way.

LETTY'S WOOING 187

And that's how we lost Letty. But I still get
our honey from Jack Mason : and, as I write,
we are waiting for news as to the result of the
operation.

CHAPTER XV

THE CHRISTMAS TREE

IT promised to be " an old-fashioned Christ-
mas." After a slight fall of snow, a steady
frost had set in on December i6th : everything
was ironbound, dry, and crisp underfoot, with
cloudless days and wonderful nights.

How should we entertain the school children ?
The discussion in our household lasted the best
part of an evening, each fresh suggestion being
in turn worked threadbare and ultimately for
some good reason discarded as impracticable. We
were driven at last to fall back upon a Christmas
Tree. After all, the children had not been treated
to one for eight years past, and it solved many
difficulties. The day's shopping this would
involve was hailed by my own children with the
keenest delight, and a list of all in the village was
immediately compiled. Against each name a
present suitable to age, sex, and taste was duly
inscribed, and finally the wherewithal was
promptly demanded from the exchequer of the

188

THE CHRISTMAS TREE 189

manor. Arrangements for the tea were compara-
tively simple and could be settled by consultation
with the cook and village baker.

But there was no time to lose, if the entertain-
ment was to be on the only possible day, Christ-
mas Eve. And why not make a little departure
this year, and do without a Father Christmas ?
Let us weave a little story to be recited to the
revellers, to the effect that, although he had pre-
pared the tree and presents, yet, owing to in-
creasing age and the extreme cold, he had been
forced to send one of his fairies to act as Almoner.
But who should be the lucky fairy ? We were all
too big or too old. Why not one of the school
children themselves ? The suggestion required
careful weighing in all its bearings, but finally
with one consent Victoria Gray was voted to the
throne, the only pity being that, in place of the
time-honoured golden hair and blue eyes associ-
ated with the character, Vicky was as dark as a
plum.

Personally I took a peculiar interest in this
child. Her mother, whom I had never known as
intimately as I did most of the villagers, had
died some two years before, and during her last
illness had begged me to keep, when she was gone,
an eye upon her children, two boys and a girl,
but especially on Vicky. Their father was a

igo SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

pensioned soldier who lost his left hand on active
service, and now worked at hedging and ditching
and road repairs, using the hook which had sup-
planted the absent member with such remark-
able dexterity that he is familiarly known as
Hooky.

On his wife's death Hooky's sister, a woman of
some sixty years of age, came to keep house for
him. Aunt Caroline, commonly known by her
wards as Cribby, had done her best by the
children. But beyond the housework her success
had been only partial : she never had, and never
could, understand children. Her vocation was
unquestionably cabbage-pickling, which she did
uncommonly well. I was always fond of all
three bairns, and saw from the first that Vicky
was the least understood by Aunt Cribby. She
was at this time just eight, and in her way really
a beautiful child, with a distinct suggestion of
gipsy strain somewhere. She had fine, healthy,
splendid limbs, an oval face of olive complexion,
masses of dark hair, and great lustrous brown eyes
with long black lashes and beautifully pencilled
eyebrows, rosy, dimpled cheeks, and the sweetest
mouth and lips. In school Vicky attracted your
attention at once, in that (and for this all honour
to Aunt Cribby) she was always spotlessly clean :
moreover, the bloom on her cheeks never seemed

THE CHRISTMAS TREE 191

to rub off with soap and water and give place to
that polished apple-skin appearance of so many
laughing faces seen there. In repose her expres-
sion was one of refinement seldom met with among
the working classes : and though her dialect
was " Zummerzet " to the backbone, it was pro-
nounced with a richer and softer intonation than
is commonly the case. But her nature was one
which required study and care. Winning, tender
and motherly to the infants, whom it was her
delight to take charge of and pilot to and from
school : quick, handy, and ready in the home :
trim and neat in her person, and generally pains-
taking in school, some might be tempted to mark
her down as a " goody-goody." Far from it :
she was very easily and quickly roused, and then
those great dark eyes were shot in an instant
with burning fire and dangerous passion, vengeful
and savage as a lioness. Add to this that she was
by nature daring, self-willed, impetuous, and
brimful of mischief as she was of life, it was no
great wonder that Vicky was often in trouble.
Whilst acknowledging that she had brains and
abilities beyond the average, her teachers and
elders were often baffled by these seeming con-
tradictions of temperament. In too many cottage
homes there is only one standard of conduct
to which all must conform, if they would be saved ;

i92 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

only one method of assisting them to attain it ;
and only one arbitrary rule by which all are
judged. To these all the children are submitted,
to be perfected or ruined as may chance, and the
regime obtaining at the Grays was least suited
to dear Vicky. More than once I had been in-
vited by Aunt Cribby to see if I could " make
anything of Victoria to-day, she'm in one of 'er
standrums " : and I must confess that upon the
last occasion I had had a stiff tussle to straighten
out her path of duty to the chick. When my
sermon was done she said point-blank, looking
up passionately into my face and clenching her
little fists :

" Why don't you take and beat me, and 'a
done wi' it, eh ? "

For answer I took her gently on my knee, and
asked :

" Would you really like me to do that,
Vicky ? "

Then she broke down hopelessly, nay, hope-
fully ! and it took me longer to comfort than it
had to scold. That I had won a real victory, and
that she was now truly fond of me, was proved
the very next day : for on meeting me in the lane,
she dropped me a curtsey, and with a pretty blush
proffered a wisp of newspaper containing the last
bull's-eye in a melting condition, which I accepted

THE CHRISTMAS TREE 193

and popped into her own mouth. I had known it :
all she craved was to be loved — it was her life !

Next evening, after a hard day's shopping for
all of us, Vicky was asked up to the Manor and
entrusted with our great plan. Father Christmas
had already left a tree full of presents, but his
presence must be excused, and he had left in-
structions that she was to be his appointed Fairy.
Nay, he had even provided clothes all ready for
her part. Vicky's eyes grew larger and larger,
till she bubbled with delight.

" And did Je bring my present too wi' 'im ? "

" Of course," said I, " but you must not see it
yet. Your first business will be to give all the
others theirs, and then yours will come. And
it is most important that the whole matter is
kept a dead secret, Vicky. Not a hint or a wink
to any single one of the others ! The invitations
will be all over the village to-morrow, but you
are the only one who will know what is in
store."

There is nothing appeals to a child like the
honour of participating in keeping a secret ;
and Vicky expanded to twice her size when the
box containing her outfit (as packed by Father
Christmas) was produced, undone by herself,
and the gorgeous robes tried on. The daintiest
of muslin ballet-frocks spangled with gold and

N

194 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

silver stars : white tights and satin shoes with
jewelled buckles, a wand of surpassing beauty,
and a pair of gauze wings of marvellous delicacy
and splendour, brought tears into her eyes.
The necessary alterations and fittings were all
marked with pins : and in a couple more clan-
destine visits and lessons of an evening Vicky was
word-perfect in her little recitation, and with
some coaching as to cutting off the presents
from the Tree, reading out their labelled names,
and presenting them with true fairy's smile, all
was at last in trim !

Christmas Eve had come, and the great event
was timed to begin at three. The final fitting-
on was just completed by my girls at twelve
o'clock, and Vicky had to run off home to get
her dinner, and then come back to the Manor
to be dressed. I saw her out at the drive gate,
and stood watching her flying like a bird some
hundred and fifty yards up the narrow lane,
sunk between high banks, to where it bends.
Surely God never made a sweeter thing than
Vicky !

Then suddenly my blood froze and with one
final thump my heart stood still. The awful
thing was all over in a moment. Just as she
reached the sharp corner, a runaway butcher's
cart dashed round it and there was no refuge

THE CHRISTMAS TREE 195

on either side. Mad as the horse was with fright,
he instinctively tried to avoid her, but the wheel
caught her, and passed right over the little body.
Next moment the cart and horse were over against
the bank. I ran and stooped over the poor
mangled bundle : yes, yes, her face was not hurt,
but oh ! the ghastly colour, the sightless eyes, the
blood ! I had no time to find out if she was dead
or living. It was not above a quarter of a mile
to her home : so bidding the butcher's lad, who
had now reached the scene and had righted his
horse, to drive fast and send a wire to the doctor,
I gathered up the senseless form as gently as I
could. Thank God, I soon felt the little heart
beating, and a gasping breathing, which en-
couraged me, though I knew the greatest care
was needed not to jolt that broken frame. What
a fight it was along the slippery, frozen road !

Not until I had seen her laid in bed did I dare
to leave her. But as she was still unconscious,
after telling Aunt Cribby what to do, and what
not to do, in my absence, I ran home to arrange
for the Treat to proceed without me, and to
collect a few things I knew would be wanted for
her nursing. Half-way back I met the doctor
and took him up to the bedroom, to find the
patient had now regained consciousness, and
that her one cry had been for me. Had she known

196 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

that I had carried her there ? I hardly think so :
but would to Heaven I had not left her even for
that half-hour, for I very soon gathered that Aunt
Cribby, by way of consolation, had not only
predicted the worst in the child's hearing, but
was already searching through the house for
scraps of mourning.

Dr. Mansell made a prolonged and careful
examination : and then bandaged and swathed
the tender body. I dreaded the verdict to be
given downstairs, but all he could tell me was
that so far he had found but three ribs fractured,
though what internal damage there might be it
was impossible at present to say. He would
call first thing next morning : meanwhile she
must be kept absolutely still. Then he said
to me :

* This is another case for you. I leave her in
your hands ; I believe it's her best chance. Get
her to sleep if you can, and keep that tiresome
woman out of her sight."

c Tell her yourself, doctor, please," I whispered.
And very firmly he bade Aunt Cribby keep the
cottage quiet, and on no account was she to let
anyone go into the sick-room unless I called
for them.

" Mr. Percivall is the only one who understands
the case " (how I wished I did !), " and if you want

THE CHRISTMAS TREE 197

me before morning send a messenger, I know
you have no telephone in this benighted hole."

When I went upstairs again it was nearly three,
and the Treat would soon start. By the time I
had arranged the room and set handy everything
I might want, it was growing a little dusk and dear
Vicky begged me to come close to her so that
she could feel me. I knelt beside her bed and
wondered at the mystery of child-suffering. To
the end of my time I shall not forget those hours
of watching, for every moment of that night is
graven on my memory. Can I ever forget her
laboured breathing, her sudden sobs of pain, and
then, despite tears of agony, the bitten lip of
courage. The hot little fingers crept over my
face to make quite sure that I was there. Again
and again she begged me not to let Aunt Cribby
come near her.

" I don't want to die, sir, and Auntie said I
should ! but I won't, no, I won't ! "

When I could control my stupid voice I tried
to speak soothing words. The smell of eau-de-
Cologne mingled with the reek of smoking
candles and a villainously trimmed lamp op-
pressed me. During those long hours I counted
the missing knots of the floral pattern on the
faded counterpane, and cursed the hideous paper
on the walls. Upon them hung an awful carica-

198 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

ture of Lazarus waltzing out of his grave in a
winding-sheet, and opposite, the Impotent Man,
with a dragoon's moustache, pointed heavenward
with a wooden leg at the Angel playing a penny
whistle and descending to Bethesda to bathe.

Everything I could I did for Vicky, who was
so brave and good and trusted herself to me as
if to a mother, but my hands were often not very
steady. Fortunately the house was still at last,
and when Hooky and the boys were in bed, few
passed down the road in the crunching snow. And
so the long hours went by, till the silver moon
looked in through the lattice to give us her bless-
ing, and then passed on and left us.

Towards ten o'clock I saw a change. After
doing everything I could to relieve and comfort
her — it is such offices which keep one going
under the strain of nursing our loved ones — the
hardest work of all was to watch in impotence
as the precious life fluttered to and fro, searching
for some home of safety. It seemed as though it
could find none in that burning house of her
broken body and yet could not finally make up
its mind to escape for good. Vicky's fitful minutes
of rest were now broken by random talking, now
by convulsive starts : until at last she begged me
to hold her in my arms. When I passed my right
arm under her shoulders so that her head could

THE CHRISTMAS TREE 199

rest upon me, she seemed much happier, and the
horrible refrain : " Oh ! the horse, the horse ! "
grew less frequent. But I began to be afraid :
those eyes, larger than ever and unusually bright,
did they always know me ? There was a greater
love than mine ; ought I to fight so hard to keep
her?

" Brave, my Vicky : brave, little woman."
!< Of course I'm here : no, never leave you."
" Yes, quite comfy : I love to hold you." " Yes,
we are both going through it together." " The
pain so bad ? I know : so is mine, darling — but
it's going to get better." " No, not a bit : pinch
me as hard as you like, it always helps." " Wipe
them again ? No, let them come : it does us
good : see, mine are wet, too." " Feet so cold ?
Let me rub them. Oh yes, I can find them ! "
" And now this medicine. There's a good girl —
you swallowed splendidly, without a choke. Of
course you shall come back again on my
shoulder."

I said a hymn or two which I had heard her
repeat in school, but for the life of me could not
get some of the verses right.

" I'm not gettin me well for the Treat, Mr.
Percivall. Will the angels be getting one, think ?
But they'm avin' Father Christmas, sure to •
won't want I, will 'em ? "

200 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" Yes, He wants you, dear Vicky. He loves you
better than any of us do."

I sat with her for five nights. Sometimes
she spoke to me sensibly, sometimes her brain
wandered through happier fields of delirium.
She talked of her little friends and then, leaving
me, spoke to them directly as if she were with
them. She saw the Christmas Tree and played
her allotted part a hundred times. In her fevered
wildness there was joy too : she gave away the
presents she would never give. To Betty Manders
she gave a trumpet, to Grace Drummett a doll.
For George Pether there was a mouth organ,
and Tommy Hoskins had his monkey with
chocolates inside it. To a dozen others, named
again and again, she gave what was destined for
them, and for herself at last, if I caught her words
aright, it seemed a child had come, The Child
Himself ! She cried out :

" Mr. Percivall, Mr. Percivall, whatever, ever,
ever, will us do ? We've forgetted JIm ! There
ain't nothin' to give 'Im J>

" Kiss Him, Vicky, kiss Him," the words
slipped from me involuntarily. And then those
dear soft arms were held out and thrown round my
own neck — the burning lips wandered all over
my face.

THE CHRISTMAS TREE 201

" Help me carry these sacred kisses pure and
holy till I can render them to Thee, O Lord."

And even as I prayed, the tender hands relaxed,
the tousled head fell gently on the pillow, the
knitted brow and troubled look of pain faded,
and I watched the first real, contented smile
come to that loving face, till, with one long sigh,
my Vicky slept.

CHAPTER XVI

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY

A FEW weeks ago placards were posted at
various points of vantage in the village
announcing " A cheap excursion. Twelve hours
at the seaside for 35. gd.. return fare." Beyond
remarking how disfiguring they were to the land-
scape, I thought little of these advertisements,
it being unlikely that they would affect our folk,
living as they do so far from a railway station.
But one night a late ramble showed me that I
had been mistaken.

The day had been too hot to allow of any more
exertion than revelling in the shade, but the
evening was too delicious to remain indoors :
so after dinner I went for a walk. The nightjars,
corncrakes, and owls beguiled me into prolonging
my ramble till I found myself passing John
Turkey's smithy just about midnight. Here I
was surprised to find a donkey tethered, and near
it there was a patient pony, harnessed in the shafts
of a cart, fastened by a halter to a staple in the

202

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 203

wall. Bestowing a pat upon each of these in turn
I was just passing on, when John, peeping out
of his doorway, caught sight of me and beckoned
me quietly to his side.

" Another bit of work for you, sir, in there/'
he began, jerking his thumb over his shoulder
in the direction of the forge : " they'm got in a
terrible muddle from what I can make of it."

When I entered the shed it was ringing with well-
known voices ; all there were talking at once and
scarcely noticed an addition to their company.
It being quite impossible to hear anything in
the pandemonium, John called for order by
stamping with his wooden leg upon a cracked
metal spittoon, at the same time rattling a pair
of heavy tongs upon the anvil and bellowing :

" Now then, now then ! quiet ! All please set
down : gentlemen may smoke if it 'elps 'em to
keep their tongues at 'ome."

" Setting," however, proved somewhat difficult
upon the furniture of the forge, and necessitated
forms, stools, blocks, and a variety of improvised
seats being brought in from the yard and out-
house.

The moonlight streamed in through the un-
shuttered windows, and with the aid of a few
candles impaled on nails in the walls, I was able

204 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

to take stock of the motley crowd. It was a
weird enough scene. I noted Sam Barter in a
high-crowned haymaker's straw hat, with a white
puggaree hanging down his back, and Matilda
his wife near him with her best bonnet sadly
askew. Mr. and Mrs. Keitch, both looking
worn out and wildly dishevelled, were close to
Ben Brindle, the sexton, while 'Appy, with a
bright red and yellow bandana handkerchief
twisted round his head turban-fashion, sat by
Peter Austin, who was bearing himself with an
air of some importance. Not far from them was
Louisa Knibb, whose toilet left a good deal to be
desired : it had plainly been over-hastily put
together.

Peace, and a certain quality of rest, being
secured, John began by addressing me.

:' Fact is, sir, there's been a most regrettable
haccident : not to put too fine a point upon it,
'Ria 'ave been drowned in the sea to-day. But
what be the rights and wrongs of the story I
ain't yet 'card meself properly. You've took
it on yerselves," he continued, now turning to
the company, " to come 'ere, all of yer, to ask for
advice : so if you want it, I propose you put this
'ere gentleman " (indicating myself) " in the
chair, so to speak, and let 'im ask the questions

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 205

'e may think fit ; and that all the rest of us should
address ourselves to the chair only, as is customary
at a hinquest, to which after all this is a kind of
'hearsal. Then per'aps we may get some sense
of it all, and be in a persition to do some 'at."

" 'Ear, 'ear," came from several voices as John
sat down, and Mrs. Keitch observed to her neigh-
bour : " Wonnerful clear-headed man is John
when things is puddled."

:< Great is Diana of the Ephesians," said Mrs.
Knibb.

I felt obliged to assume the office thus suddenly
thrust upon me, and began by addressing the first
figure on my left, Ben Brindle.

" Now, Ben, my man, you start and tell us all
you can from the beginning."

And he took up his tale readily.

" There was a 'scursion — we all see it by the
posters sticked about — twelve hours at the sea to
Sefton Sands, starting from the Town station
at 8 a.m. and leaving Sefton again at 10 p.m.
Several of us was infected for it : a good chanst
for an outing a'fore 'ay 'arvest, cheap and that, so
we took and 'ad it. By ' we ' I means all of us
as sits 'ere, 'cept Louisa Knibb (what we took
and called for on our way past 'er 'ouse 'alf an
'our agone), to fulfil the last rite but one."

206 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" Bear with one another's burdens " began

the irrelevant Louisa, but her quotation was
rudely strangled at birth by a lunge from John's
artificial limb.

" All of us, plus the one 'oo is no longer taber-
naclin' with us, met at the station to a tick. Levi
give me a lift in 'is milk-cart "

At the mention of that ail-too familiar word,
Mr. Keitch began casting furtive glances around
in search of a pail.

' You fold yer 'ands," rebuked his spouse,
ever on the alert, " and keep your eyes upon the
gentleman, do."

' 'Appy come on 'is own : I don't know 'ow
Peter Austin come "

" There — scratched 'is 'ead off ! " exclaimed
that worthy. It appeared that he was merely
apostrophising a lamed match with which he had
been attempting to light his pipe.

" Mr. and Mrs. Barter come in their own lill'
gig. We most filled a railway carriage, and
nothin' of importance 'apped on the ride down,
unless it were that 'Appy cast 'is straw 'at in a
tunnil, through puttin' 'is 'ead out o' the winder,
'is pipe drawin' too free of a sudden : 'twas a
narrer shave, that was, a'most ' against the bricks '
as you might say."

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 207

" A good 'at she was, too," interjected 'Appy,
with a melancholy shake of the head.

!< I 'ardly knows what a Corowner would bring
in," said Peter Austin, interrupted by cries of
" Order, order."

:< So Peter, what's 'andy wi' such things, tied
'is red and yellar kerchief around 'is 'ead in a
turbine, which 'Appy 'ave a-worn conspicuous
all day. When we gets to Sefton Sands we
troddles about mostly in a bunch, the deceased
showin' no signs or symptoms of any thin' unusual
so far as I can mind. 'Bout twelve we mostly
give evidence o' feelin' lear, and agrees to take
lunch all together on top of the clift."

"Oh, my dear me ! what a climb that was :
my poor shins," remarked Mrs. Keitch, amid new
cries of " Order, order."

" We found a nice lill' patch, snug and lew,
and all set down on the spine1 pic-nac fashion,
and divested the baskets."

" My meat pastie were sopped in cider what 'ad
runned out," sighed Mrs. Barter.

" 'Twas warm up there "

" Lumme ! it was 'ot— beg pardon all," said Peter.

" It wasn't till Mrs. Barter started to dig about
herself, and Sam say c seems like a case of the biter

1 Turf.

208 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

bein' better bit,' as anything went lipsy like :
but then she suddenly woke to it as she was set
on a colonial of flying Emmas.1 ' They'm eatin'
my very chemise/ she say, and upsat several
things in gettin' on to 'er legs. ' And my blessed-
ness ! look to your whiskers, Barter,' she say.
That scattered us, the only one what finished 'is
meal peace-able bein' 'Appy.

" It seemes as it divided us into three parts —
pos'tives, comp'ratives, and superl-atives — what
'eld theirselves together the rest o' the day. The
pos'tives (what knowed they was badly bit)
bein' Mrs. Barter and Mrs. Keitch : them
retired at once to leeward of a whin-bush for
revenge. The comp'ratives (what was only
inquisitious arter 'em) bein' Mr. Barter, the
deceased combed 'em out o' 'is beard wi' a jam
tart, the last thing she done, remember—
(this with a searching look at Sam, which, however,
was lost upon him as he was far away in a brown
study) " and Mr. Austin and meself, what 'unted
'em on one another. And the superl-atives
(what was imperious to their bites) bein' Mr.
Keitch, 'Appy, and the deceased.

" People mostly divides theirselves up so. I
mind thirteen years back-along when the measles

1 A colony of flying ants.

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 209

was so thickly our way, Selina's youngest "

It was seen that Ben was becoming ruminative,
and he was interrupted by crieo of " Order, order."
" Chair ! "

' Thank you very much, Brindle," said 1 :
!C your account has been most lucid and helpful.
I would now suggest that you all divide up, and
sit in the three groups Brindle has indicated,
and in which, I understand, you spent the re-
mainder of the day, in order that from each we
may next get an account of their time. Barter,
Austin, Brindle, that's right, sit here : Mrs.
Barter and Mrs. Keitch together, next : and
Mr. Keitch and 'Appy last. Now we are in
order."

Mrs. Knibb attempted to attach herself to each
company in turn, only to be asked every time to
" Move on," till Mr. Barter made her duty quite
clear.

" Bein' a neutral you must set with yourself,
Louisa."

She eventually did so, making Biblical quota-
tions, which seemed irrelevant.

" Now suppose, Mr. Barter, you tell us as
shortly as possible what happened to your party
during the afternoon."

" Well, sir, takin' it just as it come— as we'm

2io SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

forced to do this life — Peter Austin voted for a
visit to the fishin' -smocks, and we 'ad a tell wi'
some o' 'is old pals as was set round the Quay
lookin' at no thin', the sun bein' that powerful."

" And the evening and the morning was the
next day," said Mrs. Knibb.

" I didn't think they was very brisk, and 'twas
a dangerous locality near the edge. Call it c the
slips,' don't yer, Peter ? Any'ow, I took a journey
o' three yards or thereabouts on one 'eel, owin'
to a cod's 'ead layin' about."

" Phew ! " said Ben Brindle.

" You filled your bottle at the ' Goat and
Compasses ' next, Sam," said Peter Austin.

"Oh! Did I? Very like. Brindle say a
turn in the cemetery might liven us up a
point."

" I knows a smart few there, sir, that I 'adn't
seen for three-and-twenty years," said Ben
Brindle, " and I likes to reckonise 'em when I

can.':

" We approached it in a tram-line (little thinkin'
'ow close the cemetery was approachin' one o'
us) and walked around and around."

" Oh my dear me ! " said Mrs. Keitch.

' That day they compassed the city seven
times," interjected Louisa Knibb.

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 211

' 'Avin' peered about there (there wasn't
much movin' as I see), we took and went back
to the 'Quarium where every thin' moved. Felt
quite oncertain on me legs to see them fishes
weemin' around in their glass dishes, never
blinkin' : stare anyone out o' face they would I
reckon. From there, let's see

" You 'ad a 'alf hour's nap at the 'Quarium,
Sam, on the settle," suggested Peter Austin.

"Did I? Oh! Ah! O' course. ' What
price the sin-o-ma ? ' Peter say, rousin' me up
sudden. ' Sounds all right, more wakeful nor
this, any'ow,' I says. So we offs there."

" 'E means the picture palaces, sir —
movin' pictures and that," explained Ben
Brindle.

" 'Tis all the same — they does make yer 'ead
move too," said Austin.

" There was such a burst o' folk toilin' outside
the turned-stile, I looks over their 'eads and I
see a side entrance wi' a notice on it, about a
1 many-cure : two to five : separate rooms, only
a shilling.' ' 'Ere's one o' the shows,' I says to
the others, ' this way— I'll stand the racket-
foller me,' and they follers. A kind o' army
orficer in uniform showed us into a lill' room,

2i2 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

and presently a squirt wi' a bonafide 1 on 'is
chin "

" Napoleon Bonaparte, Sam/' said Peter.

:< I wasn't referrin' to what 'e represented, or
'is name — but 'is chin. 'E come in and looks at
me smilin' : and I says : * Where be the show to ? '
and 'e say ' Hee-ar, if you will be pleased to sit :
'ands or feet ? ' 'I ain't the circus,' I says, ' but
I specks 'twill be both if you don't take this bob
slippy and turn up the lights,' 'andin' 'im a shillin'.
When 'e perduced a lill' tiddly knife, then I
knowed 'im for an Eyetalian, and I started to
get a 'old on 'is 'air' but there was no haft to

'im-

" Whether that constitooted an act of trespass
or a buttery on 'is 'ead— ' began Peter re-
flectively.

" But 'twas me as was mistook seemin'ly, got
into the wrong door, 'im bein' only a corn-
wattler ; so I dropped 'im, and proposed we
should go for a smaddle in the sea-water — which
we did.

" I give tuppence for a shrimpet-net ; 'anged
me boots and socks round me neck ; and my
punkaree not bein' a morsel o' use, I see Matilda's
parasol stickin' in the sand—

1 An imperial.

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 213

:< I never took one," said Mrs. Barter.

* Your pink one," said Sam, with very deliberate
emphasis.

" I never took 'er," said Mrs. Barter.

' Well, it were some un's ; I got it outside in
the cart now, and it kep' the sun off nicely, and
we started and 'ad some fun."

" You lost a bootlace," said Austin.

" And wetted your breeches," said Ben Brindle.

" Never catched anythin' livelier than Ben's
'eel, but near landed 'im on 'is back twice. Then
we shifted on to the cocoa-nuts."

" Barter, you refilled your bottle at the * King
o' Persia ' first," said Peter.

" Brindle wasn't makin' much practice at they
nuts, but Peter was straight on the middle
stump, times : and we was just 'avin' an argiment
with the overseer as to what I thought I was
thro win' at "

" You was a bit wild, Sam," said Austin :
" lost one ball out o' sight in the Merry-go-
twiddle."

" And you catched the boss a full pitch on the
elber, when 'e 'ad just called ' Over ' for to set
the nuts," said Ben Brindle.

" Then Mr. Brindle say 'twas time we 'ad a
cup o' tea at the ' Pig and Whistle.' On the road

2i4 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

there I buyed a toy for my lilP grandchild, and in
we went — and was there when we was called to
assist wi' the body."

* Which when it was washed up they laid in
a chamber," cried Mrs. Knibb, amid renewed
cries of order.

' Thanks, Barter," I said : ' you have now
accounted for your time up to the accident.
Mrs. Barter, will you next bring us down to the
same point in your day ? "

She began briskly, almost breathlessly.

" For a start we bought some nuts off the
barrers : didn't us, Keziah ? And Mrs. Keitch
set on a pail o' sea-enemies what belonged to one
o' them bathin'-children, and we 'ad to glean 'em
off 'er gownd again — red, white, and green-
whiskered things, they was, like a caractus—
wasn't they, Keziah ? — and she put a stitch in
'er petti' what she broke "

:< Get on, woman ! Don't dictate on the
generals — keep to the martial facts," said Mr.
Barter impatiently.

This necessitated a revision of Matilda's
preconceived itinerary, and after a confused
pause she went on with a somewhat more halting
step.

" Then we took a bag o' shrimps, and I 'ad

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 215

a musical ride on a hemu, and Keziah spinned
round on a mermaid. Next us walked up to the
peepshows and see ourselves discontorted in
bent mirrers."

" Oh my Lord ! Them mirrers ! " cried Mrs.
Keitch.

" What made Keziah that giddy 'er started
to cry."

" Oh my dear me ! " said Mrs. Keitch. " If
you'd a seen Matilda and me inside o' them
mirrers. . . ."

" Then we 'ad a paddle and I 'ad the great
misfortune to lose me boots and stockin's ..."

" You should ha' stringed 'em round yer neck,"
said her husband.

" Must ha' been misappropriation," suggested
Peter.

" So I went up to the shops and bought me
this pair of 'loshers."

Here she exhibited her feet in goloshes two
sizes too large, and at the same time apologised
for her bare legs in a parenthesis : ' I got me
plenty stockin's at 'ome."

" And I got me a new coalscuttle— we been one
short in scuttles ever since "

" Get on, woman, get on," said her husband.

" Then us went to a avaited bread shop for

216 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

tea. About eight I met wi' Sam, and 'andin'
over the scuttle says we'll meet 'im at the station :
and we went to the station to get a rest and see
what was doin', and we was there when the

'earse come.'3

Here Mrs. Knibb once more tried to get in
some scripture.

" Man as is borned a woman hath but a
short "

" Thank you, Mrs. Barter," I said, " that is
all straightforward. Now, 'Appy, what about
the doings of your party ? " I asked, seeing that
Mr. Keitch was already fast asleep. So 'Appy
in turn took up the narrative.

' Us started to 'ave some bumps wi' Aunt
Selina "

* With 'oo ? My Selina never come down,"
roared Ben Brindle.

" He means Aunt Sally," said Austin, " 'tis
all the same."

* Then 'Ria and Levi 'ad a turn in a swing
boat, but got stopped along o' Levi refusin' to
loose 'is rope. Deceased and me got our photers
took. But there wasn't much doin', so I went up
town to a chemist and 'ad me a tooth drawed :
and then Levi and me went to see the fishbone
manure fact'ry while 'Ria took 'er tea. 'Bout

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 217

eight in the evenin', for ventilation we all 'ired
a skiff and went for a float on the sea along o'
two other strangers. Twenty minutes out 'Ria
was took retchin' somethin' amazin', and say she
must get out on the rocks, there bein' no leveridge
for 'er in the skiff.

1 When we got near she took and jumpit out
for 'em — missed — turned a somerset — and was
in the sea. Levi throwed 'er one o' the oars
(we 'ad two, yer see) and give 'er quite a spat
side o' the 'ead, what silly 'd 'er, and cut a large
flower out of 'er bonnut. A right good shot it
was ! Then I took and rowed 'ard wi' 'tother
oar ; but the skiff wouldn't do nothin', only
circle round and round : a giddy builded thing
must ha' been, I reckon. 'Owever we got a 'old
on 'Ria, and on the oar what she never reached,
and as she were onsensible and too weighty to
'eave into the ship, * 'Old 'er 'ead above,' I says,
and took and rowed 'ome as brisk as brisk. When
we grouted on the sand she was gone ! "

" And her place could nowhere be found,"
chanted Louisa Knibb to cries of " Order ! "

" There stood a empty fish-barrer on the beach
what belonged to a sailorman : so we popped
'er on it, throwed a sail-cloth over 'er, and one
o' the strangers what 'adjoined our party and what

2i 8 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

knowed the town, give me and Levi a 'and to
run 'er up to the doctor, what lives next the
' Pig and Whistle ' public (that was about nine-
fifteen) : and 'earin' Mr. Barter's voice singin'
in the bar, I calls 'im and the other two out, and
we all runs the barrer into the surgery, and tells
the liver 'ed lad what ope's the door to bring the
doctor quick.

' 'E showed us into the waitin'-room, and
presently doctor come in quite pleasant and we
tells 'im all the 'appenin', and arsts 'im to kindly
look through what lay in the surgery."

" Now we see through a glass darkly," said
Mrs. Knibb.

* I 'ave a done already,' 'e says : and then
'e arsts if we 'ad no woman or relative o' the body,
and we says, ' No, she'm the only remains of a man
what's gone ' : so 'e sadly shakes 'is 'ead and goes
out, mutterin' to 'isself.

" Presently 'e sends us a message by the liver 'ed
nipper, not to wait, nothin' anyone can do : better
take the barrer and go 'ome patient, and foller
mournin'. 'Twas only what we expected. Out-
side in the road we finds the barrer reverentially
covered over wi' sackin', so we agrees among
ourselves to say nothin' at the station, as 'twould
only make things awkward and expensive in the

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 219

bookin', if we took and explained the hinside
of the barrer."

' Live stock ' bein' ruled out/' explained
Peter Austin, " 'twas a question whether the
barrow would come under ' personal effects/
' 'ouse'old furniture ' or just ' goods ' : so we
agreed to smuggle it and await issues."

" We sets out, votin' Mr. Brindle into the shafts,
'e 'avin' no thin' in 'is 'ands. Yer see, Mr. Barter
was kep' busy wi' a large teddy-bear, a coal-
scuttle, and a parasol : Mr. Austin 'ad Mr.
Barter's shrimpit-net, and four cocoa-nuts

!< Five it was then," said Peter.

" Mr. Keitch 'ad a large air-ball concern tied
on to 'is coat button, what give 'im a deal o'
trouble, as well as a crab, and some toys for 'is
children : and I 'ad a basket o' winkles, a starred
fish, and some ribbons o' seaweed what I picked
up. At the station we was just in time — but only
just — and the guard took and shoved the barrer
into the van wi'out so much as a ' by your leave/
which was just what us wanted."

At this juncture 'Appy's feelings overcame him ;
so violently laying hold on the lobe of his right
ear, he led himself out of the shed.

" Does 'im credit, pore feller," moaned Mrs.
Keitch : " worinerful feelin' man."

220 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" There was always a soft spot in Sparks,"
agreed Mrs. Barter.

" Can the ether-opiate change my spots ? "
said Mrs. Knibb.

:£ If I might bring the 'istory up to date, sir,"
volunteered Mr. Austin, " there be only this to
add. We'd got into the train, when a bloke
come to the winder and say we've took 'is carridge.
* Fust come, fust served,' I says : ' Not in my
callin',' 'e say, tryin' to force 'is way in. So Mr.
Barter took and explained through the winder,
and left 'im sittin' on a basket o' fish, dabbin' 'is
chin wi' a 'andful o' waste. Doubtless Sam 'ad
made the law clear to 'im, though there seemed no
sense to 'im at all. That was the only trouble we
'ad ridin' 'ome."

" What about Levi ? " asked Mrs. Keitch.
" And the terrible job I was at keepin' 'im off
the alarm 'andle and the winderstraps ? My
'ands was full, any'ow ! "

" At the station Mr. Barter's pony-cart met
'im, and we borrowed a donkey and tied 'im into
the barrow, and we all walked 'ere — Mr. and Mrs.
Barter in their lill' gig actin' rear-guard. 'Twas
a sad process whatever."

" The ass stood to the carcase," said Mrs.
Knibb.

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 221

At this point 'Appy returned and whispered
dramatically :

:< I took me a peep, and she'm changin' colour
muchly, bein' terrible knocked about the face/'

It was now my turn to sum up.
' Well, my friends, having heard all your sad
story, there is one point upon which you appear
to have made a serious blunder. I am not blaming
you, all you have done I am sure you intended
for the best, but an inquest will have to be held,
and held at Sefton Sands where the body was
brought ashore. You made a mistake in bringing
it here."

" We all knowed that, sir," said Brindle, " but
our tickets would ha' prob'ly been forfeit unless
we come by the ten o'clock train — and the
deceased's entirely wasted. Again, yer see, 'twas
the doctor's plain orders."

" I'm doubtin' 'ow 'is leave affects the law
though," said Peter.

" Well," I continued, " whatever is to happen
to-morrow remains to be seen. It is all terribly
sad : but the best piece of advice I can give you
at this moment is for all to go home to bed, and
I will see into the whole matter at daybreak.
We can do nothing more to-night."

We were all shaking hands and taking leave of

222 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

each other in the roadway, when who should
come up but P.C. Morkell ! To him I told the
bare facts of the case, and he undertook charge
of the barrow and its contents till morning.

As last words were being said, while Morkell
wheeled the hand-barrow out of the yard, a
figure was seen shuffling along the road towards
us. Instantly everyone recognised in this an
added pain : the figure was undoubtedly poor
witless Tommy, 'Ria's son !

The silence of a great pity fell upon the com-
pany : no one moved a single step, but all with
one consent looked at me.

" You must tell 'im, sir," whispered John :
" I will take Jim in for the night afterwards, and
see to 'im : but you must break it ! "

So I went forward and took Tommy on one
side. Touching his hat, he began : u Please,
sir, mother says —

" Pore lamb — so innercent ! " groaned Mrs.
Keitch.

" She being dead yet speaketh," said Mrs.
Knibb.

" Mother says if I see any of 'em, I was
to say she'm all right, as they'm like to be

anxious."

When did you see mother, Tommy ?

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 223

" See 'er ? " he asked, large-eyed : " why, not
ten minutes back-along in 'er bed."

" Are you quite sure, my lad ? "

" 'Er says : ' Tell 'em they done quite right
to leave me and come 'ome as they done. I
'eard the doctor's message plain, what 'e give
to the buttoned boy : * Tell 'em not to wait,
there's nothin' any o' they can do 'ere : best take
the barrer and go 'ome, the patient will foller
in the mornin'. Pack o' idiots they is.' And
doctor sent 'er 'ome," continued Tommy, " near
on midnight — next train then — and 'er was drove
up from the station in an 'ired cab, as purty a
drive as she ever 'ad, she say. And now I be
come for a drop o' vinegar off Master Turkey for
'er 'ead, what aches terrible."

During this recital Mr. Barter and his wife
had mounted their cart, and in common with all
the rest had gradually edged up closer and closer
to catch Tommy's words, and make sure he was
using all the little sense with which nature had
endowed him.

As he ended, Mr. Barter's patience was ex-
hausted and he shouted : 'Ome, pony," but
before he could take the reins (always an after-
thought with Sam) the pony had already started.
In a moment the gig collided violently with P.C.

224 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Morkell's hand-barrow, overturning into the road
all its contents : some dozen cocoa-nuts, wrapped
up in the sacking and paraphernalia incident to
a cocoa-nut stall, and a much-abused Aunt Sally !

After one moment's hush of awe, by common
consent the pent-up feelings of those present
found characteristic expression.

" Bumpsy Selina ! My golly ! " said 'Appy,
rubbing his chin with great violence.

" Lumme ! But 'tis a master judgment,"
cried Peter Austin.

" The narrerest shave ever," chimed in Ben
Brindle.

" O my Lord ! Where be my milkin '-stool
to ? " asked Levi Keitch piteously.

" My dear me ! Now don't act silly, Levi—
come ! " said Keziah Keitch.

" I feels just 'ow I looked in them mirrers,
Keziah," sobbed Matilda Barter, as she dried
her eyes in Sam's puggaree.

Sam Barter deliberately backed his pony some
twenty yards up the road, and then spoke.

c< Depend upon it, that's what the bloke meant
at the station : I mind now 'twas the same I
shied at on the sands : we must a' took 'is car-
ridge in mistake, outside the surgery. 'Ome,
pony ! "

THE INEFFECTUAL TRAGEDY 225

And then he drove viciously at a hand-gallop
clean over the wooden figure on the road, almost
throwing out Matilda.

" This ain't been beat since Master Eutyclus,"
cried Louisa Knibb.

For the last ten years I have not heard John
Turkey laugh as he did then.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS

IF, among the characters of Hawkescombe, I
have left poor Pat Lambert to the last, I have
my reasons. They are, perhaps, not easy to put
down, though the chief of them seems to me the
fact that he was the strangest of them all, a man
apart and not to be ranked with others.

It was during one of my autumn rambles, not
so many months after my arrival at Hawkescombe,
that I was hailed when passing a somewhat
lonely cottage by the mother of a lengthy family
and asked to step within. Would I be pleased
to advise how to punish the latest misdeed of
No. ii — now a-bed upstairs? Though only
eight, Grace had played truant from school not
once nor twice, but thrice of late, and trouble
was brewing with the Attendance Officer. Beside
this there were offences graver even than truancy
from school ; and the very worst had been com-
mitted by her child, of all people in the world.
She had actually been up to Pat's Pitch, with the

226

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 227

result that she was blasted, probably for life,
" wi' the bladder-pimps and other interval ad-
dictions ! " x

With many apologies, since Grace was not
presentable to anyone, least of all to me, I was
ushered into the bedroom : and was soon able
to wink the mother out of the room and gain the
confidence of the sinner. The cause of the rash
and pains from which the mite was suffering was
fairly obvious ; and I soon got her own confirma-
tion of my suspicions that it had been a tremendous
overdose of unripe blackberries. It was these
which had tempted her to skip school. They
grew in abundance near Pat's Pitch. In a word,
she had rushed in where other angelic children
in the upper standards had feared to tread.

After bribing her with the promise that, if she
was well by Sunday week, kept away from Pat's
Pitch, and was regular at school till Christmas, I
would give her a box of chocolates, I left Grace
quite happy. The extortion of such promises of
virtue I felt to be sufficient penance. But alas !
In my ignorance I fear I must have confirmed her
innocent mind in the detestation in which Pat's
Pitch should be held by all self-respecting people.
For when I told the anxious mother that the mis-

1 Probably "internal afflictions."

228 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

creant only needed a short course of physic to put
her right, she was very sceptical and I was given
my first warning about the outcast Pat, root of all
local mischief.

" I'm takin' it very kind o' you, sir, to be
troublin' wi' the likes o' Grace. She'm a darin'
bit oj goods, what don't think o' what 'er pranks
and pringles may perduce. About the med'cine
now : I were just a goin' to give 'er a rubbin'
— if 'er wouldn't swaller it, which I don't believe
for a moment as 'er will, not till 'er father come
5ome, any'ow — out o' this bottle. 'Tis a fine
thing, and did my man a power o' good two year
back-along when 'e took 'im a terrible cold on
'is chest. And I give a 'ole new bottle to my eldest
girl, Rebecca, when she was to bed wi' 'er first.
Oh ! bless y', yes, I gotten four grandchildren
then — so I 'as."

But as the bottle contained two doses of " Ow-
bridge's Lung Tonic," I urged her to use my own
prescription sooner than its contents, and she
replaced it on the shelf against the next fatality
in the household, saying :

" I never likes to be wi'out a drop o' some 'at
pattent in the 'ouse : we never know what may
come, and as I were sayin', it did Will'um more
good than nothin'. For the most part, o' course,

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 229

we'm makin' our own bits o' tonics and that.
But there isn't none as I knows what'll be a anti-
dose to 9er trouble. Y'see she been up Castle
Down, and all round Pat's Pitch, O my Lawk-a-
daisies ! OJ course 'e might 'a seen and looked
at Jer, and again 'e mightn't. But 'tis misfor-
tunate — so 'tis ! "

That was my first intimation of there being
anything amiss with Castle Down, and indeed
of the very existence of Pat's Pitch. But as time
went on I was destined to learn so much more
by many side channels, that my interest grew
until I neglected no chance of picking up all I
could by talking with the older folk, specially
those living in the remoter parts of the hills. I
was very soon driven to the conclusion that
superstition was more deeply rooted in these
country folk than I could have believed without
evidence. Not that , anyone would confess for a
moment to belief in witchcraft, possession, necro-
mancy or the like : indeed, when I suggested
such notions they became highly indignant, but,
in the same breath, would ask me how I — or
anyone else — could account for certain undis-
puted events for which so many could vouch ?
There must be something very wrong, very
unusual, very much to be avoided up to Pat's

230 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

Pitch : and that he exercised a malign influence —
call it the evil eye, or what you will — not com-
patible with orthodox respectability, was firmly
established in the minds of many.

Of course this was chiefly the case with the
older women, some of whom vowed it would
take a good deal to induce them to venture over
Castle Down by themselves, specially of a night
when it was known to be Pat's wont to wander
in the pursuit of his more than doubtful cults.
The children were brought up in healthy fear
of the locality, mention of it generally being made
in a mysterious whisper : the most awful threat
for insubordination being, " I'll be leavin' y'
up to Pat's Pitch— so I will ! "

Thus from one I had the following :
" Me neighbour, Mrs. Drummett, she'll be
tellin' you what 'er suffered — and she'm a strong
'oman whose nervites wouldn't be trailin' about
to be easy stepped on — she telled me one evenin',
when 'er were overtook by a splash o' thunder,
and refuged in me cottage till it might 'a spit its
worst, and we 'ad a cup o' tea together, she telled
me o' the day 'er were takin' Mrs. 'Iggins' butter
to market : a terrible 'ot, suppressin' day 'twas,
and 'er wi' a long tramp to do too ; she telled me
as 'ow, when cuttin' over the Down Common to

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 231

make time, 'er see old Pat a-grinnin' out of 'is
winder at 'er what made 'er 'aste by : and 'er
got to town all right, but (you mightn't believe
it) when 'er got to the grocer all the butter was
turned — bad, you understand — rinsed, you call
it — and 'er only gotten ninepence a pound for
it, and come 'ome lookin' miserable and rejected
-so 'er did."

From another :

" Oh ! but it's a twisted gizzard Pat's got in
'im, must 'ave. Why, my Caroline, Carrie we
calls 'er then, she were set by the fire when 'er
were about two year old, and pop went the stick
I 'ad put on the fire to boil me kettle, and set 'er
little clothes lighted. Hadn't I been in-and-
outin' the room and found 'er, it must 'a got all
over 'er. As 'twas the leg were roasted like a
bit o' pork in two places. And then I found out
as my lad Bob must 'a gone and gathered that
faggot up to 'Ollycombe, just below Castle Down
where Pat's Pitch be to. Nothin's safe from there
—no, tain't."

Once again :

" You'm not thinkin' as old Pat's 'e'm a bad
lot ? Weren't Master Noldart's she'p dog, Beller,
as good a dog as there never wasn't no betterer
then, weren't 'er bitted by a viper-adder-serpint

232 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

up to the Down ? And 'er never doin' no 'arm
not to no one. Oh ! things hain't right up to
'Olwell Tor. And 'aven't I 'ad an aperient of
'is workin's meself ? My Dolly were just goin'
five then, and was set at play on the pitchin's,
when a neighbour what were passin', come in
'oldin' the child up by 'eels, and black in the
face 'er looked. I went a'most lamented in the
'ead. Tat 'er on the back — 'ard,' she say, ' she'm
swallerin' some'at ' : and as 'er speaked out
dropped a large brazen-brass button from 'er
mouth. And we all reckonised it as must 'a come
off of Pat's old red coat. Must 'a give it 'er for
the purpose, you know ! And where 's 'e come
from I like to know ? "

Once more :

:< I mind when Mrs. Bennett, what lived up to
Pitts, went 'ome one bitter night, and say to 'er
Master, she say, * I seen old Pat at 'is grim-
bozzles as I took me over the Common.' It were
one o' the lastest words 'er ever speaked. In a
forty-night 'er died — so 'er did : breaked out
top to bottom wi' the ippi-chrysalises,1 and them
did for 'er, poor thing, and 'er only seventy-four.
But the next chapter put the 'at a'top of it. There
bein' no road, only a tract over the Down, the

1 Erysipelas,

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 233

carriers was all old friends o' Master Bennett's,
and 'ad walked wij the coffin over a mile : and
when they come neighbourly to Pat's Pitch the
corpse screamed — so it did ! They dropped 'er
down and runned for it and I'm not blamin' 'em.
One lost 'is beaver 'at, a brimble catched it by the
crape band and left three bushes in 'is cheeks —
so it did. Poor Master Bennett, they telled me,
were the only one what wouldn't leave the coffin,
but set on it to offend 'er in case anythin' come
along, and waited there till them others come
back, tappin' on it wi' 'is pipe at internals to con-
tent 'er like. Must 'a been an uncommon good
'oman for to make old Pat so spiteful at 'er and 'er
screwed down too. No one know where 'e come
from : but 'tis as plain as y'ur 'and be'ind y'ur
face 'twas no good place.

" And o' course, sir, you must 'a bin telled
about the old well up to the Tor. No ? Oh !
They do say — my father and grandfather I 'card
tell scores o' times — as somewheres thereabouts
is a everlastin' spring o' liquid water : and in the
old days folks believed as it could cure babies
o' diseases if they took and dipped 'em in it.
Sounds like a piece o' fool's silliness, so it do :
but we never know what we believe down 'ere,
do we ? And if 'twas true, it makes old Pat

234 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

worser, pitchin' 'isself next a 'eavenly water and
defyin' the spirits what lived in it. I lay 'e've
scared 'em back 'ome afore now."

From the men I could get little. But if the
younger and hardier smiled at these old wives'
fables, several of the older could not forget events
which seemed associated with the evil luck
attributable to Pat. For instance, it was certain
that, when he acted for a time as drover of cattle
to and from market for farmers, in more than one
case several had died later of red-water. It was
certain, at least in one instance, that a cow after
feeding on the Common slipped her calf. Equally
certain it was that farmer Higgins lost a pony with
a broken leg on the Down. And it was common
knowledge that no cattle did well up there. Thus
the commoners' right to feed cattle there had
long been foregone : it was always best to be
on the safe side.

From the vicar in whose parish the common lay,
I could get nothing beyond the fact that he had
long ceased to visit the hovel in which Pat Lambert
lived. Indeed, he had only once done so. Fpr
one thing it was too far away, and for another,
though he had twice spoken to the man, he ap-
peared to be the roughest of rough ignoramuses,
and nothing could be made of him. My friend

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 235

was afraid, indeed, that Pat had a past better
forgotten, although he really knew nothing
tangible against the man.

When attempting to piece together the facts
I had collected I found they made but a sorry
patch-work. Where the man had come from
originally was unknown to any : and that in itself,
quite obviously, was the tap-root of early sus-
picion. He was not even Zummerzet, much less
a Hill-man. He was quite young when he had
bought the freehold of the house and garden,
which had previously belonged to a squatter
named Squires, who went up England way and
disappeared. Pat had brought a youthful wife
with him, who in turn increased suspicion by
associating with absolutely no one. For a year
and more he had worked as extra woodman on
the Manor, but had been dismissed owing to
the unpleasant tales spread abroad on all sides.
Passers by the Common, and it was more freely
used at that time as a short cut to several places,
had heard piercing screams coming from the
cottage both by day and night : and it was as
certain as could be that the man was a fiend of
cruelty to his poor wife. But before action could
be taken in her defence she had suddenly dis-
appeared— whither, there could be little doubt !

236 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

To one intrepid enquirer who bearded Pat and
demanded explanation, none was forthcoming.
But he was told in sulphurous language, accom-
panied by a grimace so grotesque that he said it
could only be likened to " a church gargle/' to
mind his own business and that as quickly as
might be. No one in his senses could doubt that
murder had been done, even if the police said the
man's wife had run away. But in the light of
subsequent events, and Pat's continued exercise
of evil influence on man and beast, it was recalled
that just at the very time of her disappearance
a nanny-goat was seen for the first time at his
Pitch. Could there be any connection ? " Not
really, o' course," but the head-shaking which
followed showed the speaker far from being
satisfied : " Well, we never know what we believe
down 'ere, do we ? " Anyhow, the billy-goat
which arrived a few days later than the nanny
was as sweetly familiar with old Pat as he was
bitterly hostile to all intruders. And someone
had suggested that horns and a red coat did not
exactly savour of Christian charity : " which again,
o' course, must be just silliness, but—

My curiosity thus aroused, it was perhaps
natural that I should make bird-watching an

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 237

excuse to visit at intervals the scene of so much
disaster. I took no notice of the man on meeting
him in his faded red hunting-coat, which I did
occasionally, beyond a friendly passing of the time
of day : but even this met with no response
better than a surly growl. I had to leave it at
that till a more favourable opportunity presented
itself.

Nor did I find the excuse an idle one, for the
locality proved full of interest for a naturalist.
Castle Down is a spur on a stretch of high table-
land, severely wind-swept as the stunted heather
and bent thorn-bushes show. It is boulder-strewn,
and pock-marked with little dells filled with patches
of gorse and bracken, but carpeted for the most
part with hard, coarse grass. On the west the
tableland stretches away a long distance, and on
the north side the hills fall abruptly into a bog
beneath : but on the east and south, once over
the crest, the slope is clothed in a tangle of brush-
wood and rotten timber, and is full of springs
and boggy ground which ends in a dense wood
hanging steeply over the valley. Immediately
upon the brow of this descent occurs an outcrop
of sandstone known as Holwell Tor : and it is
some hundred and fifty yards west of this that
one suddenly comes upon Pat's Pitch sitting in a

238 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

little hollow. It is a small, one-storied cottage
built of the boulders of the district and white-
washed, with a garden on three sides, the whole
surrounded by turf walls. The roof is a coarse
thatch of reeds from the bog below, kept in place
with hurdles and wisps of straw weighted with
stone slabs. When first caught sight of on the
common, the roof alone is visible, owing to the
hollow in which the cottage sits, and it resembles
nothing so much as a bee-skip. A spring issues
from the turf not ten yards from the door, and the
water is caught in a circular dipping-hole, the
overflow trickling away until it is lost in the
undergrowth below.

It was a wild situation and one that appealed
to me by its solitary grandeur.

It was on a glorious evening towards the end
of May, when returning from a long ramble in
the woods below — frequented by the spotted
woodpeckers, and (as I regretted to discover for
the first time that day) by at least one pair of
Little Owls — that I mounted Castle Down and
sheltered for a time to watch a buzzard hawking
moths and beetles, always a most fascinating
sight. As the darkness drew on a passing curlew
now and again whistled his plaintive call over-
head : owls were waking in the woods and calling

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 239

to remind one another that it was time to be on
the move. At length I rose too, and whilst taking
one last look at the after-glow in the western sky,
and then at its reflected colour on the trees be-
neath me, I caught sight of a pole stuck in a little
clearing in the wood. If I was not much mistaken
it had a spring tooth-trap on top to catch the harm-
less, the invaluable owls. This was an advertise-
ment of criminal ignorance and wanton cruelty
which I could not leave. I went down into the
hollow, and with some difficulty swarming up the
post I succeeded first in springing and then
pocketing the beastly thing. I was preparing
to descend, wondering what damage would
overtake my knickers were I to slide, when I
glanced down to find the grinning countenance
of Pat, on guard beneath. Next moment we stood
face to face. He cut a weird figure to be sure :
and for a moment I could almost forgive the folk
their superstitions. He was a short, stubby
figure, and wore no hat : a sack was thrown over
his shoulders in place of the old faded hunting-
coat, while his corduroy trousers were hitched
up at the knee high enough to leave several
inches of sockless flesh showing above his boots.
He had a clean-shaven face, a shock of tousled
grey hair, and heavy eyebrows growing over

240 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

curiously blue-grey eyes with double rings round
the iris. One nostril was larger than the other,
and one eyelid drooped, while a distortion of the
upper lip gave the mouth a most sardonic
grin. At such close quarters I could take a
good look at him, and he appeared to be as
interested in myself. At length I opened
conversation.

" Well, Mr. Lambert, did you think I was
going to fall ? "

After a moment's pause, and without taking
his eyes off me, he asked in a low but not unpleasant
voice :

" What 'a you done wi' 'er ? "

" Taken it away," I replied : " it's in my
pocket."

" What'll you be doin' wi' 'er ? "

" I don't know : it's not my property."

" I knows that : 'tis keeper's — the fool. Do
away wi' 'er, see ? Bury 'er. I been watchin' of
y' last hour and more. Why do y' come messin'
'ere-abouts ? 'Tis to find some'at, I knows that !
'Tis no good for to tell me a lie. I seen it in y'ur
face, times : you'm lookin' for some'at. Now
'ave y' found 'im ? "

' Yes, birds, beetles, moths, and all sorts of
things. I love them."

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 241

:< I knowed it ! Me too. But I reckon we'm
both lookin' for some 'at more than they."

I smiled at his earnestness, and this seemed
to please rather than irritate him.

" Look y' 'ere," he continued, as we strolled
up the wood in the direction of his Pitch : "I'll
be tellin' y' straight. I come down under yon
pole a' purpose to scare y' — but you'm not
scare-able, seemin'ly. And you better not be
tellin' no one as we meeted, or likely they'll be
lookin' for some trouble comin' to y' — the fools.
You'm the only man — to say man, then — I seen
since I'm livin' 'ere, and I beg pardon for tryin'
it on."

" Don't trouble to, Lambert. Have a pipe
of ' baccy,' " and I handed him my pouch.

" So I will, parson or no parson, danged if I
don't ! I'm going to talk — so I be."

And having filled and lighted his pipe, Pat
began in a confidential undertone.

" I'm lookin' for some 'at same as y'urself about
the wild things, and may-be we'm both after the
same, and might 'elp one another a point. 'Tis
the Squire o' the 'oods I'm 'untin'. You can't
'elp but feel 'im close to y' when you'm in the
'oods by y'urself— no one can't, but a fool. You
know what I mean ? "

242 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

' Yes, I think so, Lambert. I always feel
there is something very, very mysterious in a
wood/'

:< I knows nothin' about the mistress, 'tis the
Master I'm after : what's allus lookin' at y', and
whipserin' to y'? and 'idin' from y', and laughs
times and cries times, and 'is shadder makes you
feel 'im passin' close wi'out touchin' of y'. Tis
the Squire what never sleeps night nor day :
what learns the lamp worm x to light 'er wick,
and tickles the churn-owl 2 till 'e purrs : what
flies along o' the flit-mouse 3 and guides 'im safe
from any thin' what might touch 'im, 'cause 'e
can't see for 'isself like. What thatches the
mouse that tight into 'er skip so as we calls
'er door-mouse 'cause there ain't one. What
tucks the caterpillar into 'is quilt, and then turns
'im into a butterfly : and 'elps Maggie 4 to put
up 'er numbriller over 'er chicks. What learns
the mew-eagle 5 to pretty 'is nest to please 'is
missus, and the snipe to please 'is old girl by
playin' on 'is 'arp to 'er as she'm settin'. What
guides the sextons,6 tellin' 'em where the buryin'
wants doin' : and shows the tipsy-bibs 7 and the

1 Glow-worm. 2 Night-jar.

3 Bat. * Magpie.

6 Buzzard. « Burying beetles.

7 Water-wagtails.

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 243

kingcocks 1 and the pea-pigs 2 and the ibbits 3
all the tricks oj their trades. You'm likely laughin'
at me backside o' y'ur face."

u No, Lambert, no : indeed I am not."

" The Squire, then, what nurses and looks
arter 'em all, and makes 'em betterer nor all the
men and women, and does just as 'e minds
to in the 'oods — I wants to meet 'im ; I wants
to see 'im ; I wants 'is 'elp very pertickler.
'Twas to get up right-sides of 'im as I first give
up killin' and eatin' the wild things. Then the
more I'm watchin' of 'em the more beautifuller
I'm findin' 'e makes 'em and learns 'em. Can't
'urt 'em, I can't, and they knows it : must do :
and so must Squire what looks to 'em. What
I'm wantin' to learn is ow' 'em gets up-sides wi'
'im, to learn 'ow 'e does 'em that careful
and learns 'em that clever. Day and night I'm
'untin' 'im — so I be ! Be that what you'm after
now ? "

" Yes."

" I knowed it. What for ? "

" For the same reason as you, Pat — to
learn."

" Me too. But learn what ? "

" What He is like."

1 Woodcocks. 8 Hedgehogs. 3 Lizards.

244 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

" Like ? You'm not wantin' no 'elp, then ? "

" Yes, I am."

" Me too ! I knowed it ! 'Elp for what,
now ? "

" To be like Him.J)

"Ha! Ha! What ridicklous— yet I don't
know : p'raps I does want to be like 'im, too,
in a way o' speakin', 'cause you see I've come to
love they wild things : them's all I got, and I
wants to act kind and clever to 'em. I don't
know nothin' about parsons, and that : you and
me be far different there : but we'm close in this
'unt o' the Squire o' the 'oods, eh ? "

1 Your religion and mine are not so far
apart, Pat : the spirit of the woods you and
I are hunting is the God we believe in and
worship."

" What ? What's your churches for then ? "

" We build them to His honour — not to keep
Him in. He is in the woods, and fields, and
everywhere ; and if we believe in Him we can
worship Him not only in churches, but any-
where— indeed, the worship He loves best is our
imitating Him in love and tenderness."

" I don't know nothin' about all that — was
never to school."

" Yes, you do. You feel Him close beside you

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 245

in the woods : you hunt after Him — so you must
believe He is there."

" I knows it ! "

" And you love His animals, and act kindly
to them as He does. You hate what He hates-
cruelty. You love what He loves — beauty. You
admire the care He takes of the creatures, and the
things He has taught them. It is He Himself
has taught you all this, and when you do
it. . . ."

" I allus do it — well now, anyways ! "

" Yes, and that is your worship. The chief
difference between us, Pat, is the name we give
Him. You call Him Squire, or better, Master,
but I think mine is best, * Spirit,' or ' God/
which means ' the good.' '

" Well, no matter. I wants to see 'im'.'

" So do I, but we can't."

" Can't ? Wild things do, I know. Is it
cause 'e'm too fine, or too big for we ? "

" Too big. But we shall some day if we go on
hunting Him, and do what He likes us to do.
And meantime we can both talk to Him."

" So I do— by meself. Sounds silly, too. But
will he do what I wants, and 'elp me same as 'e
do them ? "

" Yes, if it's a good and kind thing you want."

246 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

* Then I'm on the right tract so far, eh ? "

" Yes."

A long silence fell between us, as we now sat
side by side upon the Tor. Presently I glanced
sideways at Pat, and was so amazed at the change
in his face that I almost jumped up from my seat :
the frown had gone, the drooping eyelid and the
twisted lip, no trace of them was left, the face
was smooth and quite good to look upon.

" Can you tell me, Lambert, why people are
so afraid of you ? It's not an idle question, and
don't answer it if you would rather not ; but I
don't understand."

" O' course you don't. They thinks me mad,
and damned, and all the rest of it — so they do :
and I wants 'em to. I wants to be left alone.
Listen and I'll be tellin' y' the blessed lot — only
I'm trustin' y' not to tell no one, see ? Another
fill o' y'ur baccer, I'll thank y' for it. I wants
to be left alone, and when folks comes moiderin'
around they pervents me gettin' up-sides o'
the Squire : they'm the only thing what seems
to drive 'im away, and 'e don't come back for ever
so long. I come 'ere directly after me and Lucy
was married. Me wife 'ad got 'er into trouble
— bad trouble too — no matter what : but I got
'er out of it, and bringed 'er 'ere where no one

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 247

wouldn't know 'er, and I could pertect 'er : and
'er didn't want to know no one, and I said 'er
shouldn't. She were afflicted, poor soul, and 'ad
fits come on 'er when 'er screamed for a 'alf 'our
at a time. Nothin' I could do would 'elp 'er, and
'er wouldn't 'ave no one but me a'near 'er. O'
course I got me into trouble over it, and lost me
places — thought I were cruel to 'er — but that
didn't matter so long as I could keep 'er 'appy
like. You never minds a bit o' bother an you
loves anyone. I got us a livin', as I do now, by
gatherin' the simples and sellin' in the towns, but
I 'as to go long-ways-away where they don't
know me. I picks the blackberries and sells
'em for colour : l and this wi' a little bit o' me
own what I got, and me fowls, and garden and
such-like, we does all right. Well, we lived 'ere
three years and then Lucy 'ad a child, but wouldn't
'ave no 'oman nigh 'er only me : 'er clinged to
me. Us managed all right, but the child were
informed — bad luck for it ! 'Twas then I got a
goat for the milk, and 'ave kep' some ever since :
they'm fine things. About two months arter,
when I were out one morning, a gipple 'oman
come along and 'ad a tell wi' my missus whether
'er would or no : Lucy 'er telled me of it when

1 The dye works,

248 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

I come 'ome at tea. And that evenin' 'er went
out wi' the child, and 'er never come back, no
'er didn't. Days I'm waitin', but 'er never come.
I 'unted all round, but never 'card a word of 'er :
I found the gipple 'oman and 'er telled me all
'er 'ad telled the missus, and 'twas from that I
got to know what chanced. Lucy 'er thinks to
cure the child by dippin' of it in a well o' water
below 'ere. Tis said to cure the informed and
such : and by mistake 'er must 'a over-dosed it,
'twas but a mite of a thing, and drownded it.
That must 'a frighted 'er out of 'er 'ead, weren't
never strong, and 'er offed and never come 'ome.
I know, 'cause I found the little 'un at last by
watchin' which way the Squire guided the rats.
I found it, and took and buried it deep in a
biscuit box, in same place just where Lucy 'ad
just covered it over wi' stones and that, poor
thing. 'Twas then, feelin' lonely and soft arter
my missus and the child, as I started feelin' the
Squire o' the 'oods wi' me : I were wantin'
some 'at to 'elp me, and I watched 'ow good 'e
were to the wild things : and more I took notice,
more I wanted 'is 'elp to bring 'er back and keep
me company like. O' course I never told no one
about nothin' : 'twould shame 'er, and 'er
sufferin' enough a'ready : folks was afeard o'

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 249

me long afore which kep' Jem away, and now they
said I'd took and done away wi' both wife and
child — so they did. And to keep 'em from peerin'
about, and to leave me to meself, I kep' up the
fun o' bein' bad, and learned me tricks wi' me
eye, and me nose, and me lip, till they was
scared clean away and never come nigh me—
just what I'm wantin'. So there 'tis. There's
only two things i' the world my Lucy she'm lovin'
— 'tis me and the kid : 'er'll come back one day
to one of us, if not afore, leastways when 'er
knows 'er time be runnin' out. Oh ! 'er will and
I'm allus on the watch, and don't want no folks
about when 'er comes. I wants the Squire to
take and guide 'er 'ome to me, and tell me when
she'm comin', see ? Think 'e will, an I'm kind
to 'is wild things, and talks a bit more to 'im by
meself ? "

" Yes, Lambert, yes ! "

" Then, you see, if so be she'm on 'er last and
dyin'-like, and I 'ouldn't wonder, I can bury 'er
along o' the child, no one don't know where.
'Er sure to like that : never could abide no one
else nigh 'er. I promised to pertect 'er when I
took 'er. Then I shall 'a done all as I can, and
my job '11 be done, so 'twill. Nothin' don't matter
arter that. I'm glad as you'm thinkin' we'm

250 SOMERSET NEIGHBOURS

not far apart : and you might put in a word or
two for us when you'm in the 'oods times and
you'm feelin' 'im close and busy there 'elpin'
things : you'm knowin' better nor me. But I
'ouldn't wonder an I took me a peep through the
church winder meself one night, when no one's
peerin' about, and I'm quit o' my task for 'er,
but that must come afore nothin' else. And
youVe fixed y'ur mind as I must do wi'out seein'
'im ? "

" Yes, Lambert."

;< So I will, then : I specks we'll win an we
sticks to 'im patient-like."

" Nothing surer, Pat : we can't fail."

" Tis good 'earin', so 'tis. I'm trustin' you a
deal, and you give me y'ur oath — no, I'm not
wantin' it ! Yes — I'll take y'ur 'and, 'tis enough
— and good night to y'. Take and 'ide that thing
in y'ur pockert, mind ! >;

Two years later, not far from his parish church,
Pat Lambert's body was found one winter's
night in a ditch by the roadside, and the vicar
who could not himself conscientiously use the
Prayer Book Burial Service over him, gave me
permission to do so.

As I sit on Holwell Tor and watch the wild,

THE SQUIRE OF THE WOODS 251

and listen to the distant voices of the children
round the blackberry bushes, I often think of
Pat, and wonder if and where he met his wife.
At least his other quest is won, and he can see his
Squire of the Woods.

Printed in Great Britain at

The Mayflower Press, Plymouth,

William Brendon & Son, Ltd.